


Apocalypse

by appending_fic



Series: Self Determination [4]
Category: 3 Below (Cartoon), Guardians of Childhood & Related Fandoms, Kubo and the Two Strings (2016), Rise of the Guardians (2012), Tales of Arcadia (Cartoons), Trollhunters (Cartoon)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Awkwardness, Canon-Typical Violence, Communication, Developing Relationship, End of the World, Friends to Lovers, Multi, Necromancy, Possession, Road Trips, Survivor Guilt, Trans Male Character, Treasure Hunting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-18
Updated: 2019-03-03
Packaged: 2019-09-22 09:58:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 16
Words: 88,192
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17057666
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/appending_fic/pseuds/appending_fic
Summary: "An apocalypse is a disclosure of knowledge or revelation. In religious and occult concepts it is usually a disclosure of something hidden, 'a vision of heavenly secrets that can make sense of earthly realities'. Historically, the term has a heavy religious connotation as commonly seen in the prophetic revelations of eschatology and were obtained through dreams or spiritual visions. In the biblical book of revelation apocalypse says to be the complete and final destruction of the world."-WikipediaToby really hopes this story is about the first one.





	1. Council of War

Even though the Trollhunters were a _team_ , when they met up, they still ended up sitting in cliques. 

Claire and Rico sat with Mary, and, when she appeared, Darci. Mary rarely contributed to the meetings, but Toby had noted her gaze drifting often from her phone to Claire. Regular. Watchful. The trolls watched her too, often, but those looks were a lot more hostile. Which yeah, calling on the full power of an artifact fueled by Morgana's...spite, he guessed, _had_ left Claire a ticking time bomb who might be possessed by the sorceress at any moment. But Mary clearly had things in hand, so Toby tried not to worry about it.

There were plenty of other things to be worried about.

Draal arrived with Kellor when _she_ came, but as he did so only on her orders, sat in the corner and refused to talk to anyone. Kellor didn't come by often; she spent most of her time trying to win allies in troll communities around the world.

There weren't many. The Krubera, obviously, followed Queen Usurna. Gatto wasn't with them _or_ Morgana. Wumpa had been ousted and her replacement siding with Gunmar. Tribe after tribe were siding with Morgana or refusing to anger her by standing against her. 

Dr. Lake, who was basically their adult supervision, kept her distance from everyone, though she was good at small talk with the trolls - Mr. Strickler, Blinky, Aaarrrgghh, and, on occasion, Frederick, a changeling who had been working with Mr. Strickler for years.

And then there was Bular. Allegedly reformed, he'd fought Otto in the heart of the Janus Order to find a way to close the Killahead Bridge or steal whatever the changelings had used to get into the Darklands. But he'd tried to kill over half the people at any given meeting, had _actually_ killed Draal's dad. On the other hand, Aaarrrgghh had at one point attempted to dismember and eat _Blinky_ , so obviously they could get over it with enough time.

...You know, if they _had_ enough time before Morgana put out the sun and ended all life on the planet.

That left Eli, Steve, and Squab, a goblin who led a whole tribe who was...sort of on their side. Eli had confided they were involved in something big - tracking down the Lord of Flowers, and Light of Creation, which might give trolls something to rally around. But they'd spent so much time together that their rhythm, inside jokes, and intermittent ability to understand Squab's interjections, made Toby feel like he was intruding whenever he tried to join them.

But Toby tried, because if he couldn't hang with Claire's or Eli's groups, he had to talk to the guy whose soul was currently occupying Jim's body - Mordred Pendragon.

Mordred (who went by 'Arthur' for reasons they were not good enough friends for Toby to know) wasn't a bad guy. He'd probably saved Jim's life half a dozen times and by occupying Jim's body was keeping it from wasting away while Jim's soul was trapped in another dimension. Talking to him wearing Jim's face just gave Toby the _creeps_ , a sentiment Darci, at least, understood.

But something Claire had said in passing that morning about how _lonely_ the Shadowlands had stuck with Toby. Everyone Mordred had loved was over a thousand years dead ( _maybe_ \- legends were inconsistent about who Mordred's mother was), and everyone he'd had to talk to since was gone.

And while Mordred _obviously_ wasn't as close to Jim as Toby was, as the youngest Trollhunter, Jim was probably the only person Mordred had felt comfortable talking to.

So he waved Mordred over when the Lakes arrived at Mr. Strickler's house (being the only house actually equipped for the comfort of trolls); the startled look on Jim's face made Toby feel a little guilty at how he'd treated Mordred over the two weeks or so since Morgana had returned. The other boy did, however, settle next to Toby, the pensive furrow to his brow making clear how much of a dick Toby had been to one of Jim's _best friends_ (possibly even his _second best_ friend).

"Um. Hi?"

"Dude, sit down," Toby said. "We're still waiting on-"

"Claire and her friend Darci. Mary has, um," Mordred scrunched up Jim's face as he considered, "band practice? Or wouldn't Jim know that?"

"I literally do not know." Toby reached out and patted...Mordred's arm. "But chill. The only people who'd notice already _know_ you're just pretending to be Jim."

Jim (fine, _Mordred_ ) paled. "I don't want to-"

" _Chill_. Look, obviously I don't want to encourage every Sloane, Tiff, and Gawain to take over Jim's body, but we're all on the same page here...right?"

"Yes! I want to get Jim back in his body as soon as we can." Mordred paused and bit at his lip. "Especially since…"

"Since?" Toby prompted, trying to ignore the hitch in his stomach. He couldn't be _certain_ it was bad news until Mordred gave him an answer.

"Since this whole thing's a bandage - a patch. Jim's body is going to sicken and die without his soul in it eventually no matter _what_ we do." Mordred shrugged, or winced, possibly, as if he expected Toby to blame _him_.

"Sounds about par for the course. Lucky fixing the Amulet of Daylight's on tonight's agenda."

He patted Mordred's shoulder as the doorbell rang and Mr. Strickler opened it to Claire holding Rico, Darci, and a small, serious-looked woman in a dark head wrap, who nodded at him. He looked to Claire.

"Miss Nuñez, who is-"

"Nida Fakhoury, personal aide to Councilwoman Nuñez. The councilwoman sent me to keep her abreast of this…" She paused, giving a brief frown, "Task force. If she is going to be calling emergency evacuations on your behalf, she would like to be kept 'in the loop', as it were."

Mr. Strickler nodded. "Understandable." He glanced at Claire, who gave a minute nod.

"Claire already determined I was not a changeling attempting to infiltrate your operation under false pretenses." Nida gave Mr. Strickler a tight smile. "Are we ready to get started?"

"Yes, we are. Take a seat." Mr. Strickler watched Nida as she took a seat, not quite frowning, but attentive. "Now, it's been about two weeks since Morgana's return; although we no longer have any highly-placed agents in the Janus Order _proper_ , the agents we _do_ have continue to provide useful intelligence. The first being that among those who have staunchly refused to stand with Morgana are the Yeti."

"You aren't about to suggest we try to ally with them, are you?" Blinky demanded.

"That _was_ , in fact, my intent. There are precious few potential allies we can afford to ignore at this juncture."

"Um." Darci raised her hand. "For the humans...and people who aren't nerds, what's the problem with the Yeti? I mean, they're...trolls, right?"

"Yes, they are trolls, but were notoriously insular even before the rise of the Gumm Gumms. Since then, _especially_ since the First Battle of Killahead, they have been _aggressively_ so."

"Reportedly, the envoy Morgana sent to the Yeti was returned in a small satchel, absent everything from the shoulders down," Mr. Strickler interjected.

"Exactly!" Blinky shouted.

"I understand keeping everyone safe stopped being an option the moment Gunmar escaped the Darklands, but do we need to actively seek out trouble?" Dr. Lake asked. 

"That depends entirely on what...Walter thinks the benefits of an alliance are," Nida said.

"Their confidence in their ability to hold off Morgana is an obvious plus," Mr. Strickler replied. "But I would recommend seeking them out because of their particular...intelligence."

Bular snorted. "You aren't suggesting we risk our lives trying to deal with the Yeti because of some story most _whelps_ don't believe in, are you?"

Mr. Strickler shot Bular a sharp look, straightening up as if he were stepping into the classroom. "While it is true the 'Golden Age' is unlikely to be the glorious utopia and font of arcane knowledge the name implies, the collected tales referring to it suggest scholars of the age _would_ have access to valuable knowledge. And the historical association between the Lord of Flowers and the Yeti may not represent a _literal_ link between them and the creator of trollkind-"

"What Stricklander is trying to say is that we have so few options that risking death at the hands of a xenophobic clan of nerds for the sliver of a chance they might be able to help us is actually a good bet. I _assure_ you - whatever secrets the Yeti have, they will not be sharing them anytime soon. We are better served discussing means of gathering intelligence on Morgana."

"Wait - I believe you said we have agents embedded in her organization." Nida flipped back through the notes she had been taking furiously throughout the discussion. "Yes, you mentioned agents in the - Janus Order."

"That may be true, but although Morgana commands the Janus Order, and the Gumm Gumms, few outside the higher echelons are privy to the workings of her inner council, who provide the overarching strategy for her campaign," Mr. Strickler replied.

Aaarrrgghh raised his hand. "Gunmar keep Gumm Gumm Warriors with him at all time. Easy to disguise-"

" _ **No**_ ," Blinky and Bular chorused in unison, before giving each other startled looks.

"That is a cogent and well-choreographed point," Mr. Strickler said. "Even our agents within the Janus Order are being extraordinarily cautious, and their cover does not rely upon keeping Gunmar or Usurna from seeing their face. I wished to suggest another option - someone who is _not_ known to have betrayed Gunmar or Morgana's portion of the Janus Order. She is a bit of a wildcard, I will admit, but Zelda Nomura _is_ trained as a spy and saboteur, and acting against us at this juncture would endanger her mother's life, which I am reasonably certain she does not want to do."

Bular scoffed. "She was imprisoned for her failure at the Second Battle of Killahead until you arranged for her escape. How would she get close to Morgana?"

"She could." Toby jumped, and he saw a number of startled glances thrown their way, toward J - Mordred. "Morgana doesn't have an army, or a network of spies, or a tribe of trolls supporting her. All she has is her familiar." He looked up at Mr. Strickler, eyes a little...soft. "She doesn't have anyone left. If Zelda can _befriend_ her…"

"Morgana _notoriously_ drove Queen Guenevere mad," Mr. Strickler replied, "and they'd been friends for _decades_ at that point."

Mordred shrugged. "They were on opposite sides of a war by that point - so Zelda can worry about that _after_ she's exposed. I think it's a good idea."

"Well." Mr. Strickler narrowed his eyes at Mordred. They hadn't told the others Mordred's real name, just called him 'Arthur' like he'd done with Jim, but saying stuff like that was bound to raise suspicions, especially among the trolls, some of whom were old enough to have _met him_. "Any objections?" When there was no response, he nodded. "Good. And that brings us to the final piece of our agenda - the Amulet of Daylight. Luckily, it was not destroyed outright, but enough of its components have been damaged that it cannot function. Arthur has assured us that repairing it should return Jim's consciousness to his body."

"It should be easy enough to repair - _Otto Scarbach_ built an amulet on his own."

"It is certain he had Merlin's own formulae to work from," Mr. Strickler replied, shooting a glare at Bular. "Making repairs a matter of finding someone comfortable working on a device about which we know little. There are artificers who might be willing to offer their services, but few I'd trust being capable enough to do it."

"What about The Toymaker?"

The trolls snapped their heads around, as one, to Eli.

"Where did you hear that name?" Mr. Strickler demanded.

"It doesn't matter _where_ ," Kellor replied. "Now that the name's out there: what _about_ The Toymaker?"

"It doesn't sound like he'll be much help; the Amulet of Daylight isn't a _toy_." Darci leaned back in her seat, kicking her legs absently.

"No, The Toymaker is-"

"An artificer, likely skilled enough to repair the Amulet of Daylight if he wished," Blinky explained. "But...he is reckless, unpredictable, and has no compunction about dabbling in dangerous and horrifying magic. I would explore _all other options_ before allowing him access to Merlin's greatest secret."

"What _are_ our other options?" Kellor asked. "There isn't a smith god I know how to find, no troll I'd trust who's made a serious study of the art...I'd trust Tsar Lunar if anyone knew where to find _him_ , but we don't."

"There's got to be _somebody_ ," Blinky retorted.

"...Merlin," Aaarrrgghh grumbled, and to that, there was nothing but silence. 

Because he was _right_. Merlin was an archmage, possibly the most powerful sorcerer on Earth. He wouldn't have died just because he was _old_ , and the Amulet of Daylight was his masterpiece.

"Do you know where Merlin _is_? I'll spare you the suspense and tell you Morgana _doesn't_." Mr. Strickler folded his arms, cocking his head at Aaarrrgghh. "I am certain that Usurna does not, either, even with the sight of every Krubera looking for her."

"He built himself a tomb," Mordred said. "Guenevere asked, once, why a man like him would need a tomb. And Morgana said...a man like him, grew weary of sharing the earth with people like us."

"So...he's on the moon?"

Mordred gave Toby a startled look, but was smiling as he shrugged. "Could be. All I know is it's bound to be remote - probably as far away from any living person he can get."

"Well," Mr. Strickler said. "That's something, at least. If we can get some leads, asking Merlin for help may be preferable to relying on an amateur. I propose we look into the matter. _Quickly_ , though."

As everyone packed up, Toby watched Mordred, and Dr. Lake. He could see her pause briefly every now and again looking at Mordred - forgetting, Toby guessed, he wasn't Jim. It couldn't make things more comfortable at home. It was going to make for a lousy Thanksgiving.

Toby caught up with them at the door. "Hey, Dr. Lake. I know we usually have Thanksgiving over at your place, but do you wanna mix it up this year? Nana and I will handle dinner, and you two can relax."

"I…" Dr. Lake took a step back, glanced sidelong at Mordred, and then gave Toby a weak smile. "I think...we'd like that."

"Won't be like Jim's, but...I think we should be thankful for what we've still got."

\---

"Hey." Their server, probably around Aja and Krel's age, was lanky, pale, golden-eyes, and had dyed blue streaks into his hair. He put one hand on the table and smiled at Aja before turning to Krel. "I'm going to be your server this evening - you can call me Douxie. Can I get you kids anything to drink?"

"I've seen some debate about what 'lemonade' is - can you tell me what yours is?" Aja asked.

"Lemon juice, sugar, water. I mean, it's actually just high fructose corn syrup and artificial flavors with some yellow food dye. But it's _supposed_ to be lemon juice."

"Do you have anything with bubbles in it that doesn't have...corn syrup in it? Or those weird fake sugar molecules?"

"Plain soda water for the lady," Douxie said, pointing at her. "And the gentleman?"

"Black coffee."

"Gotcha. You are a serious-minded dude with no time for nonsense. Ready to order, or should I be back in a minute?"

Aja had a hand over her mouth in a vain attempt to hide her snickering, leaving Krel, glaring at her to reply, "We'll need a minute." Douxie wasn't gone for more than a few seconds before Krell kicked Aja under the table. She stuck out her tongue at him.

"Lighten up."

"I _can't_ ," Krel retorted, folding his arms. "Things are a lot worse than we thought, here on Earth. The Cult of the Sleeping God's been here since the _beginning_ , and I think that means there isn't anyone we can _trust_."

"Is that why you stopped trying to talk to Laira's kid?"

Krel flushed, looking away from Aja. "I can't - I don't know we can trust him."

"But we can trust your internet friends? That guy who's worried about alien invasions and the one who's got you convinced there are _Pooka_ on Earth?"

"They _should_ be worried about alien invasions," Krel retorted. "And...it's just a _theory_ Jamie's got."

"Jamie - you haven't been telling people on the internet your _real name_ , have you?"

"Of course not! I told him - he said he trusts me." Krel folded his arms, cheeks still red. "I haven't told him anything about _us_ , of course."

"Hey, folks, got your drinks here." Douxie placed a glass of bubbling water in front of Aja, and a steaming mug in front of Krel. "Still need a minute?"

"Probably," Aja replied; Krel hadn't looked at his menu since Douxie had left. "But I've been wanting to do this for ages - I would like an order of jalapeño poppers."

Douxie raised an eyebrow. "Management says I've got to warn you they're quite spicy. But I think a girl with that sort of confidence knows how much spice she can handle, right?" He glanced over at Krel. "You want any hors d'oeuvres, dude?"

"What?" Krel jerked his head up and flicked his gaze over the menu. "I'll have the wonton fried...thing."

"Alright. And don't worry about figuring out what you want for dinner - we're chill here."

Krel stared after Douxie as he wandered toward the kitchen, eyes narrowed. "He's watching us," Krel muttered.

"He's our _waiter_ ," Aja retorted. "I think you might be a little paranoid. And…" She looked after Douxie, who had paused to help another employee clear off a table. "I think we should try to talk to Toby. I know things are strange here. I know you're worried about the Cult of the Sleeping God. But...we need allies. We need people we can trust. I think you've found some people like that already online, but it's only a matter of time before the Cult sends someone after us, and we're going to need as many friends as we can get." She took a sip of her drink, leading to a ten-minute sneezing fit when the bubbles got up her nose.

\---

Certain the sun was finally down, Wumpa clambered out of the mud of the swamp she'd sought refuge in that day. The air was cooler that she was used to; it had been growing cooler every night since she'd been forced from the Quagawumps' swamp, and appropriately deep swamps more often than not giving way to shallow caves. Unable to access the Gyre, she'd been forced to travel overland, trying to find Arcadia Oaks with little more than the knowledge it was west. 

There was something poetic about her travel - fleeing the rising sun to help her people survive the wicked queen who claimed dominion over them. But it was lonely, and Wumpa spent her days in anxious contemplation. Though she longed to think King Toby was alive, she knew he would not have stood for the return of Morgana.

Either his magic was powerless against her...or he was dead.

But to give up on King Toby without _proof_ of his defeat was unforgivable.

So she pressed on, walking through the night, trying to make sense of the map she'd scrounged from a dumpster. Spending her nights watching the stars as she walked. Wondering how long she would have to walk. If she would survive the journey.

Tonight, the worry weighed her steps down, and halfway through the night she sat against a fallen tree to look at the stars. King Toby had told her something, once. Humans looked to the stars and wished upon them. Perhaps if she wished, it might bring her closer to her half-human king.

So Wumpa looked up and wished…

"Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck!" A voice, reedy in panic, carried through the woods.

"Get someone ahead of it so we can cut it off!" The woods were filled with the crash of people unused to travel in the wilds trying to move quickly. Distant shouts joined the crashes, and Wumpa stood, hands clenched into fists as she considered whether to run or fight.

And then a grey rabbit darted in front of Wumpa. They were somewhat unremarkable, as rabbits went.

If you ignored their repeated cry of " _fuck_ " as they sprinted across Wumpa's path.

This clearly wasn't Wumpa's concern; if she were quick, she could get out of here before the rabbit's pursuers caught up with them.

But…

Wumpa had rejected Morgana's emissary because King Toby was her enemy. Because he would be upset if Wumpa had sided with the sorceress.

She was seeking him out because he would know what to do.

And if that were true, the correct action now was what King Toby would do.

So…

_What would Toby do_?

Wumpa took off after the rabbit; they were moving jerkily, as if they had been running for some time, but still struggled and moved to bite when Wumpa scooped them up.

"Calm down," she said. "Wumpa is not hungry for rabbit." She kept moving, because the voices and crashing were approaching their location. "Wumpa is here to _save_ you."

The rabbit, whose fur was covered with dark patches (lines and swirls, like a tattoo), twisted their head around to squint at Wumpa suspiciously with grass-green eyes.

"You're a Quagawump," they said flatly. "Not the most altruistic of trolls."

"Wumpa follows the will of the Reforged King." Wumpa grabbed a low-hanging branch to leverage herself into a jump into the treetops where she got her first view of the rabbit's pursuers. Humans, no more than a score, armed with strangely-shaped guns. There was something about the one at the back that made Wumpa's instincts scream at her.

"Can't say I've heard of him - is he new?"

"Shattered King _reforged_ ," Wumpa replied, hopping to another tree before it occurred to her that the rabbit's question was strange. "Why would rabbit know Quagawump king?"

"Used to know all of them - the kings, chieftains - any troll who claimed dominion over a Heartstone. And if you're trying to help me escape, you might want to pick up the pace." Two humans crouched in place and leapt into the trees after Wumpa. She turned and fled, but trying to figure out what was going on distracted her a little. What sort of rabbit knew troll kings?

Some of the humans below were keeping pace with Wumpa even though she was leaping from tree to tree twice as fast as any human could manage.

No ordinary humans, then.

Meaning this was no ordinary rabbit. "Are _those_ people hungry for rabbit?"

The rabbit laughed, wheezing a little in Wumpa's grip. "In a manner of speaking. If they caught me, they'd rip me apart and pour my soul into the gems they carry with them. They'd do it do you, too, if they caught you."

Gems, huh?

Wumpa risked a glance back at the paid chasing her at tree level. Neither of them were carrying any obvious pieces of jewelry, which was smart - if they contained souls, those gems were immeasurably valuable.

But had limited use. Phylacteries could only be made from the souls of sorcerers. The only real use of a grail holding a creature's soul was to fuel Blood Magic. But Blood Mages were solitary by nature, their greed making it difficult to cooperate with someone who could steal the source of your power.

Wumpa's unease at the man at the rear made more sense; if he were in charge of this group, he was a creature of unmatched charisma or power - in the same tier as King Toby.

She landed and scanned the approaching group of humans. Some of them were clearly faster than an ordinary human, others stronger...she had an inkling of to what use they put their captured souls. But she had no time for them - Wumpa tightened her grip on the rabbit, who squawked indignantly, and leapt back toward their pursuers, actually passing the two closest ones as she made for the leader - the one in the rear (a cowardly sort of leader, letting others lead the charge).

"Hey! Whoa! What do you think you're doing? Didn't you hear what I said?"

"Yes." Wumpa landed heavily and took a moment to judge the distance before curling up, rabbit tucked against her chest, and rolled.

"What the - no no no no-" The rabbit's voice raised into a wordless squeal as Wumpa barrelled through the woods, dodging those who weren't fast or dextrous enough to have caught up with her before, heading straight for the leader.

He was a tall, broad man - blond hair cut short, eyes the color of dried blood, and a cold expression on his face. How many lives had he taken, how many souls captured, to fuel his magic?

He called a word, made a gesture, and the air around him transmuted to flame.

Strange. Light Magic, instead of Blood Magic. Wumpa bounced around, ricocheting off a tree to find an opening in the flames.

There was none, but he had summoned flame instead of daylight, so Wumpa charged through. Flames singed her hide, but the man had clearly not expected her to throw herself through a wall of flames.

But how could she do otherwise? He chased innocent rabbits to steal their souls. King Toby would do no less. She slammed into him, finding it like running into a monster mangrove, but saw, as she hopped back, the gleaming red stone set in a ring on his left hand. He drew a half-circle in the air with that hand as he shouted another word, and his form blurred before snapping back into focus.

"Get _back_!" the rabbit screamed; Wumpa hopped back a moment before a flaming boulder crashed to the ground. She rolled around it, but found the man stepping out of the way just as she approached. He reached back his right hand crackling with lightning.

Anyone else would have tried to dodge it. The rabbit was screaming at her to do so.

But she knew his secret. He was using Light Magic - _Merlin's_ magic, but his spells were powerful, overwhelming. Somehow, he was using Blood Magic, the power of captive souls, to empower himself.

So Wumpa grabbed the man's left hand in her fist as he slammed his sparking hand against her spine. She ignored the agonizing pain and tore, taking his hand along with the grail attached to it.

It was heavier than it looked; not so much she couldn't carry it, but surprising. But Wumpa could feel it had no more strength than the ruby an ignorant observer might mistake it for. So she crushed the gem in her hand.

The man had made no sound when she'd torn his hand off. But when she destroyed the gem, the grail, he howled. Not in pain, but fury. Wumpa could see she'd overstayed her welcome, and bolted back into the trees, rabbit still cradled against her chest.


	2. A Helping Hand

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everyone has a fight ahead, and they are gathering allies.

"Ike, I'm glad you could make it. Come in."

Darci's dad paused in the entrance to Councilwoman Nuñez's office, eyes resting briefly on Darci and Toby. She waved at him, and his brow furrowed in confusion.

"Ophelia. I don't understand. Is Darci in trouble?"

"What? Oh, no. It's…" Councilwoman Nuñez sighed and waved at the lone empty chair in her office. "It's complicated. Sit." Darci's dad did so, cautiously. Darci tried to give him an encouraging smile; it wasn't going to do much good, given what he was about to hear, but she could try. "I know I said I'd explain the emergency shelter order I asked you to send out soon, and...well, this is soon."

Darci's dad shifted in place. "Yeah, kinda seemed a little weird. It's not those Nazis again, is it?"

"No." Councilwoman Nuñez shot a look at Toby and sighed. "It might be easier if it were. Can you promise you won't draw your weapon in the next...minute, no matter how worried for our safety you are?"

"What does that have to-"

" _Ike_."

He glanced at Darci; she gave him a thumbs up, and he sighed. "Okay. But this better be - _holy_ -"

"Hello." Blinky stepped out of Councilwoman Nuñez's private bathroom and waved at Darci's dad. "Blinkous Galadrigal. I understand you are Miss Scott's father, and an officer of the peace. A pleasure to meet you." Darci's dad didn't react, didn't even twitch, just stared at Blinky. "Can I call you Ike? Or do you prefer Detective Scott? You can call me Blinky - it's a bit of a nickname."

"Because...of the...six eyes?" Darci's dad asked.

"What? Oh no." Blinky laughed. "My, that _is_ a coincidence! No, that's a - well, it's a long story we probably shouldn't get into right now." 

"Oh. Good." Darci's dad looked back to her. "Sweetie? What's...going on here?"

"Blinky's a _troll_ , Daddy. His people have been living here since-"

"Quite a while. We used to have an arrangement with the people who lived here, but went, hah, underground when Europeans started arriving. We had a...fraught relationship with them, prior to our immigration."

"Understandable." Darci's dad swallowed and looked back up at Councilwoman Nuñez. "What's this all about, Ophelia? Are these invaders, or-"

"Heavens, no!" Blinky paused. "Although the current climate may make it _look_ that way. The short of it is, over fifteen hundred years ago-"

"Can we get a shorter version, Blinky?" Councilwoman Nuñez asked, hand on her forehead.

"But it is _vital_ he understand the greater context-"

" _Blinky_."

Blinky sighed and, folding his arms, looked back to Darci's dad. "An evil sorceress and her troll warlord are using my people's home underneath Arcadia Oaks as their base from which to plot the destruction of...well, the planet, but humanity specifically."

Darci's dad sat back, eyes a little glazed. He looked to Darci again; she nodded.

"And how does - where does Darci fit in all this? And what about - why haven't you called the Army about this?"

"I have been involved in a very delicate discussion with the Department of Homeland Security; until I can be certain they won't stop taking my calls when I use words like 'troll' and 'sorceress', we're on our own."

Darci's dad nodded, before setting his jaw and sitting up straight. "Alright. Then I'll talk to the chief and see if we can't get a squad down there to arrest them."

Councilwoman Nuñez jerked her head up, staring, wide-eyed, at Darci's dad. "No! What - why would you think that's what this is about?"

"You said they're a danger to the public," Darci's dad retorted. "What _else_ am I supposed to do?"

"Are you a warrior, Detective Scott?" Blinky gave Darci's dad a toothy grin when he turned. "A sorcerer? Because Heartstone Trollmarket fell to Gunmar, the most dreaded warrior of our people, and his army. Because we were forced to retreat rather than face the might of Morgana La Fey." 

Darci shivered at the mention; she hadn't been there, but Claire's report, of being so overwhelmed by Morgana's _glamour_ that she'd fallen to her knees and wept because she could never match the faerie, made it clear they had no chance.

"Then what-"

"We need people in charge who know what's going on. We need you, specifically, to be aware of what problems need a supernatural touch, and when people should stop digging. We need someone to help us figure out what we can do if we identify any changeling spies among the citizens of Arcadia Oaks."

"...Changeling…"

"Trolls with the ability to appear human. With few regrettable exceptions, they are limited to a single human form. A substantial fraction of them are in Morgana's service."

Darci gave her father a weak smile; he was looking a little overwhelmed. "It's best not to worry about it. Just keep an iron horseshoe at hand and poke people with it if you're suspicious. But Mr. Strickler's okay - so's his friend Frederick."

"Mr. - Walter Strickler's a - a _changeling_?"

"It's a whole thing," Toby said. "We should probably make, like, an orientation packet for this stuff. Like, you can _say_ you need Detective Scott to know when to stay out of the way, but he doesn't know _anything_. Like, what do you do if a dragon shows up?"

"...Get help?"

"No! It was a trick question! Dragons aren't real!"

"Then what-"

Darci raised a hand. "I've got an idea. But you're not going to like it."

\---

"Wake up." Something landed on Aja's lap; she flailed, throwing it aside, and heard a yelp and a crash. When she sat up, Krel was sprawled against one of her bookcases, cradling a mass of crystals against his chest. He was scowling at her. "Be _careful_! This is a delicate piece of circuitry!"

"Then maybe you shouldn't drop it on people who are sleeping. What is it?"

"Part of the ship's communications array," Krel replied.

"You didn't-" Remembering their conversation of the previous week, Aja felt a trill of anxiety. "You aren't _destroying_ it, are you? We're going to need it when everything's _safe_."

"I am not destroying it. I realized…" Krel sat up, communications array still tucked against him. "We came here looking for help, and we won't find that hiding away. But more than that - Laira is dead, Akiridion fallen, our parents and Vex-" He broke off. "This isn't about keeping ourselves safe anymore. With the Gorg and - Akiridion - who's left to stand between the Cult of the Sleeping God and complete control of the _universe_?"

"What do you mean?"

Krel bared his teeth at Aja. "The Cult of the Sleeping God is a blight upon the universe. Our family took it upon themselves to destroy them, and with our parents gone, that responsibility falls to us."

"Wait - what?" Aja scrambled off her bed, ducking down to grab Krel's shoulders. "We're going to _war_?"

"This new planet is beset by the Cult of the Sleeping God, which means we have two choices: spend the rest of our lives trying to avoid their notice, or bring the fight to them. And if we're going to fight, we're going to need every ally we can find." He looked down at the communications array. "And I'm going to need your help if we're going to set up a distress beacon."

Which is how Aja found herself standing in the shelter of the KRDA radio tower while Krel fiddled with the wires above. The chill was unexpected, forcing her to hug her arms around her to keep warm. 

"Okay, I think I've got the wires hooked up to the array - it should allow us to access standard galactic frequencies."

"Good. Have you installed a surge protector? You always forget to account for voltage differentials."

" _Yes_ I installed a surge protector!" Krel shouted. "Now how do I make a recording?"

"Make a-" Aja sighed and climbed up after her brother, because she wasn't going to keep shouting at him from ground level. It had taken Krel five minutes to work himself up here; it took Aja one. She paused, taking a moment to enjoy this view of Arcadia Oaks. She was certain Krel had been inspired to fight the Cult of the Sleeping God by his online friends - despite him claiming he told them nothing about himself, Aja was pretty sure bits and pieces had leaked out. This view, though, of a town free of the fear of the undying cultists and their bloodthirsty god, inspired a spark of the protectiveness, the regal _duty_ that was her birthright. It was a violation of the worst sort that the Sleeping God’s nfluence had touched this place; she'd beg the Boov for help, if it had the slightest chance of increasing their chances of putting an end to the cult's rampage.

"Ajaaaa."

"Okay, okay!" Aja turned to the crystal, pulling up the interface that would allow her to record a message she could program to transmit across the planet on channels only other aliens would know. "What are we saying? Are we going for heartfelt, panicked, regal? I can do a good Julie Andrews if we need regal."

Krel handed a piece of paper to Aja. "A script?"

"I figured we didn't want to be figuring this out up here," he retorted. "So just go ahead and read it."

"Huh." Aja read through it again, familiarizing herself with the words so she'd sound natural (thank you, ten years of elocution lessons). "This is actually pretty good."

"It doesn't sound like something out of my comic books?"

"Well...it sort of does. But I think that's the sort of… _earnestness_ we need here." She patted Krel's arm gently. "It makes me sort of wish _you'd_ been writing our speeches all these years."

"Aja…" Krel wiped at his eyes.

"Shut it a minute." Aja tapped the crystal array and took a deep breath. "Hello. This is Princess Aja Tarron of Akiridion - _Queen_ Aja Tarron, I suppose, now." Krel gave her a thumb's up. "Our planet has fallen to the Cult of the Sleeping God, as many others have. We came here to this planet - Earth - seeking refuge, but instead found a planet that has lived under the shadow of the cult for _ages_. If you will not face them, if you are seeking a world free of their influence, keep going. You will find no respite here. But _we_ are tired of running. If you too are tired, if you hear those voices saying the cult heralds the end of the world, an end we cannot prevent, and you think, ' **no** '. Stay. Find us. Join us. The Sleeping God has stolen our homes from us. Let us strike back. Let us take something of _his_."

Aja tapped the crystal again to end the recording and grinned at Krel, who was wiping his eyes again. "You sentimental nerd," she muttered.

"Hey!"

For a moment, Aja was certain the Cult of the Sleeping God had found them, and she reached for a weapon - anything-

And then the shout came again, and, expected, the voice was familiar. On ground level was a human adult, standing next to a car that was topped by a blinking red and blue light.

"The _fuzz_ ," Krel muttered.

"Get down from there!"

"This is what they put people in Guantanamo Bay for - climbing radio towers, planting strange devices - oh god what if they dissect us?" Krel grabbed Aja's arm, eyes wild as he spiraled down a cycle of panic.

"Get _ahold_ of yourself. We're _teenagers_ ; they're not going to do anything worse than drag us home to our parents."

"...Did _you_ fix the parental units?" Krel asked. "Because _I_ haven't been able to fix that weird bug."

"...Which one? The one where they slapped people instead of shaking hands?"

"No, the _other_ one."

"Oh." Aja raised her hands over her head. "We're coming down!" It took ten minutes to get both of them down at ground level, during which the cop, who was vaguely familiar, glowered at them watchfully. As Aja dropped to the ground, someone stepped out of the cop car to join the officer, and she froze.

"Domzalski, stay in the car. This isn't a - your type of case."

"Well, you don't know that," Toby Domzalski drawled as he gave Aja and Krel, who was just landing, a once-over. Serious. Assessing. And oh lord, if he were half as perceptive as his mother, he'd see _right through them_. "You'd be amazed how many of these...problems us kids run into first. Like that whole thing with the buzzard attacking teenage boys? Not a buzzard." Toby ambled forward, hands tucked in his pockets, clicked his tongue. "Now you see this? You, being an adult cop, assume two teenagers hanging around a radio tower are, I don't know, planning some sort of terrorist attack-"

"You said they could be-" The cop paused, shooting Aja and Krel a brief, telling look. She clenched a fist, wishing it had been a little longer before she tested her fairly solid theory that they were immune to Earth bullets.

"Oh, well, that's easy!" Toby reached into one of the pouches of the bag on his back, and pulled out a flat, U-shaped piece of metal. "Here, hold this."

Aja reached out to take it, cautiously, from Toby. He gave her an encouraging grin, and she felt a wash of shame, forcing one her own subjects to comfort _her_ , so she spun and slapped the metal 'U' into Krel's hand.

"Is that all, officer?" Aja demanded. "Because my brother and I have-"

"What's that?" The police officer pointed up at the communications array, which was glowing in its place wedged between two metal braces.

Panic flooded Aja's chest; her hands twitched for - she didn't know, a weapon or to just try to rip out her racing heart. And then Toby Domzalski, last scion of the House of Woda, stepped around to the cop, laughing loudly.

"Dude, that's a _geocache_. Someone hides a box full of, like, little toys and junk and leaves hints so people can hunt it down, read notes, add their own."

"A geo…?"

Toby winked at Aja as the police officer turned to her.

"Oh yes, officer! Me and my little brother were _geocaching_. A very wholesome outdoors activity - no drugs or violence and nothing to do with any sort of evil cults."

The officer glanced between Toby, Aja, and Krel, the latter of whom had _not_ caught the wink and looked as panicked as Aja had felt a moment ago. And then he nodded.

"Alright. But get back home, kids. It's late, and you don't know what's lurking out here."

Aja wasn't sure, but she thought she saw Toby give the police officer a thumbs up as they walked past him to head back to the house ('home' wasn't an option. It might not ever be. But Aja would _die_ rather than see another planet of people suffer the same way as she had).

\---

"So," Wumpa said, as they settled in an abandoned clubhouse somewhere around Louisiana, "my name Wumpa. Ex-queen of Quagawumps."

" _Ex_ -queen?" Aster demanded, although given she'd been running through the Floridian panhandle when they'd met, the title was appropriate. "What about your - reforged king? And the shattered king? Sounds like you've got a lot of royalty bouncing around down there."

Wumpa sighed, one hand settling on Aster's head. He tensed, and she jerked her hand back. "Sorry."

"Naw, it's alright. Just haven't been...just been on the run for a while. A little jumpy, you know? Also, I'm _not_ a bunny rabbit."

" _Look_ like a bunny rabbit."

Aster growled, resisting the urge to bite (she was a troll; they could take it, and mostly saw it as a friendly warning). "I'm not - convergent evolution is a - look, you ever heard of the Pooka?"

Wumpa shook her head, which was - well, probably good. Aster hadn't been planning to tell her who he was, anyway, so the fewer clues she had about his identity, the better. "Well, I'm not a bunny rabbit. I'm a-"

" _Magic_ bunny rabbit."

There wasn't a way to argue the point that wouldn't involve explaining things Aster didn't want to talk about, so Aster let it rest.

"Do you have a name?"

It couldn't hurt - few trolls had ever known Aster by a name other than his title as the Lord of Flowers, and Aster wasn't even his given name (like any sensible creature, he kept his true name hidden from all but those he trusted the most).

"Aster."

"Magic _flower_ bunny," Wumpa said, absently. "Do all bunnies have flowers for names?"

"Not a bunny," Aster repeated, trying to ignore the twist of pain in his chest at the question Wumpa hadn't known would hurt him. Trolls knew Aster as the Lord of Flowers and creator of trollkind, but only the eldest sages of the Yeti knew that he had used the Light of Creation to shape this world, and weave memories of a people long-dead into the flowers he'd nurtured. That Lily, Sakura, Mwanja, and hundreds of other names were memorials to Pooka long dead or worse.

"Then why blood mages chasing you?" Wumpa demanded. "Not a lot of magic in you."

Against another creature, Aster might bluster and argue they couldn't use his size as an indicator of his strength. But first, Aster _was_ drained; he had been forced into this shape as his energy waned. And Wumpa could probably tell; Quagawumps were descended from a clan with particular sensitivity to and affinity for magic.

"They're - looking for something they think I've got. And they _might_ want to take me apart on principle. Me and their boss - have a history."

"History - like kissing?"

"What?" Aster felt a surge of revulsion; the last form he'd seen the Sleeping God in had _not_ been an attractive one. And that was setting _aside_ the fact that Blood Magic was the opposite of good, honest Shadow Magic, which drew its strength from its practitioner. No, the thought of having a _history_ of that type with any of the first Blood Mages was sickening, whatever form they'd had. " _No_. Threw him in prison, once. Can't possibly think of me fondly for that."

Aster had never been certain how much responsibility the Sleeping God had for the destruction of the Great Prison, of General Pitchiner's corruption, and the fall of the Golden Age. Whether he'd had some influence over Pitch Black's actions. The genocide of the Pooka race, though, had always inclined Aster to think the Sleeping God had used Pitch as an instrument of his vengeance.

"...Who _are_ they? Human hate group, like Order of Dawn?"

"Human? No. They're human because that's the dominant species here. You'll find them in any planet with intelligent species, Blood Mages devoted to the worship of one of the first of their kind - the Sleeping God. You will find trolls among their number - Fin the Alchemist, most notably. One of the last surviving dragons is his servant as well, but even if you'd met him, you probably wouldn't know. You'll find a lot of dying species among their number - seeking to preserve themselves, _whatever_ the cost."

Aster felt tired, suddenly. Of course, he'd been running without proper rest for _centuries_ , and in the presence of a - an ally, a part of him was clamoring for sleep. But the memories of atrocities committed in the name of the Sleeping God, of this world, already half in his thrall, made going on difficult.

"Bunny? Aster? Are you alright?"

"No, I'm - they think I have something that I _don't_. I've spent _centuries_ looking for it, alone, waiting for the moment they'd find me again and I'd have to run. I'm _tired_."

The troll set her face, watching him, even, serios, before giving him a sharp nod. "Then Wumpa carry you."

Aster must have misheard her, so he squawked, " _What_?"

"Aster need help. Not run anymore. Wumpa carry you."

Aster fumbled for a response. If she'd _known_ who he was, he wouldn't be surprised at the offer. But to meet a creature, helpless, drained of magic, and offer to carry him- "I've got a long way to go, Wumpa."

"Then rest up," Wumpa said firmly. "We have a long night ahead of us."


	3. Revelation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Krel finally comes clean, and the Creepslayerz meet an old friend.

"If asked, I would have assumed you'd be better at history."

Mordred glared at Toby with a viciousness he'd never seen from Jim; befriending Mordred had felt less and less like trying to pretend Jim was okay the more Toby grew to know Mordred and learn his quirks and expressions. It helped that, unlike the Claire situation over the summer, Mordred wasn't trying to fool anyone important about his real identity.

"I could have sworn Jim told you at some point that I didn't really _experience_ most of the last fifteen hundred years. And in any case, the Trollhunter hasn't been involved in as many historically relevant events as you'd think." Mordred poked at the cafeteria food and shoved a forkful into his mouth. Toby felt a little skip of his heart at that. It wasn't like the food was terrible, or that he valued Jim only for their shared lunches, but…

Every reminder that Jim _wasn't_ here was a bit of a blow.

He dug around for something, _anything_ , to take his mind off that particular subject.

"Um. Hey, Toby." Krel Tarron, standing next to Toby's and Mordred's table, managed to look _small_ , despite standing at full height. He gave Toby a wave.

"Krel, my man." Toby reached a fist up to bump; Krel took a step back before pausing and taking the fist to shake it. Toby didn't snicker, because it was rude to make fun of a guy for being a little out of sync in how a foreign culture did stuff. "Krel, here, is like, the _king_ of math, because, what do you say? 'Math is universal'." Mordred gave Toby a tiny nod, which left Toby feeling a little cheered. He'd taken to doing stuff like this when they ran into someone Jim would be expected to know, even if they weren't his friends.

"I need to...talk to you, Toby." There was an edge to Krel's voice, and when he said this, he wasn't quite looking at Toby. Which, yeah, Toby supposed he was uncomfortable that Toby might tell Detective Scott Aja and Krel had been clearly hijacking the radio tower for nefarious purposes, and _not_ geo-caching, as Toby had claimed.

"Dude, don't _worry_ about - you know - everything. Toby Domzalski has got your back, and that means he doesn't go around stabbing it. Right, Jimbo?"

Mordred gave Toby a confused glance; Toby hadn't mentioned his encounter with Aja and Krel, feeling it probably wasn't important. But Mordred was a quick thinker, apparently, because he nodded.

"Absolutely. I couldn't imagine anyone better to have in your corner than Toby Domzalski."

Toby's throat went a little tight, and as Krel looked at Mordred, wiped at his eyes to clear them, because he was trying to project a confident persona here. But.

On one hand, most of Mordred's experiences over the past year had been filtered through Jim's perspective, so _obviously_ he thought highly of Toby. But, well, Mordred _was_ his own person, and someone Toby hadn't knowingly interacted with before Jim's soul was banished to the Void (he tried not to think too heavily on the fact Jim's soul had been in the Void the whole time, puppeting his body out of habit). Which meant _somewhere_ in the past couple of weeks, he'd decided on his own that Toby was the best.

"It's not - look, I've got something...important I need to talk to you about, okay?" Krel was still basically looking at his feet, embarrassed, allowing Toby a twist of sympathy.

"Yeah, okay. You wanna do this here, or-"

" _Alone_ ," Krel insisted.

"Alright. Think you can hold down the fort here, Jimbo?"

"I'd need at least ten minutes to cause the downfall of a towering example of civilization, so probably."

It was hard to tell, sometimes, if Mordred actually felt responsible for the fall of Camelot, or if he just had a _very_ dark sense of humor. Toby, though, didn't have time to worry about it right now, so with a friendly fist-bump instead of a brotherly hug, Toby left Mordred to follow Krel out of the cafeteria.

"So-"

"Can we just-?" Krel flailed a little, waving further down the hall, so Toby followed him, bemused, into an empty classroom whose chalkboard was chock full of _math_. Toby wondered, as Krel shut the door, if Krel had knowingly brought him to a math classroom to feel more comfortable.

Toby settled against the teacher's desk. "So."

Krel twisted around, eyes a little wide. "Um. Yeah." He took a step toward Toby before taking a hard right and began pacing. "Look. I've got something important to talk to you about. Something to tell you. I thought I wanted to, and then - got myself worked up how you'd react, but Aja talked some sense into me, and we - well, I'm glad you saw us the other night, because it makes this easier to explain."

Toby nodded. "O...kay."

"And I just-" Krel spun around to face Toby, hands out, open, placating, and his eyes wavering, face pinched. "You can't freak out, okay? I haven't talked about this with _anyone_ \- except Aja, of course."

"Yeah, sure." A small part of Toby wondered if Krel was going to confirm what pretty much the whole school _assumed_ was true about the two of them - refugees of an unspecified political coup, _probably_ South American, jumpy around cops…

But it seemed odd that Krel would be doing _that_ without Aja.

"I - I'm not exactly what I seem, Toby." Not a changeling, Toby knew, so he tried to keep from tensing. He wasn't certain he succeeded, but Krel was so tense himself Toby doubted he noticed. "And I've wanted to talk to you, because I - because we're more alike than most people would think."

… _Oh_. Toby had _no_ idea what environment Krel and Aja had fled, but it couldn't have been kind to nervous little queer kids, so he let himself relax a little, trying to project a calm, accepting aura.

"I'm an alien."

"I'm honored you felt you could share - what?" Toby's mental balance shifted a little, finding Krel's secret had been what he'd thought in the first place. In part because he had _no idea_ where Krel thought Toby was in the same situation. "Dude, I'm not. I was born here. I am 100 percent a home-grown American citizen. I mean, it's cool you trust me enough to share this, but-"

" _Extra-terrestrial_ , then, whatever," Krel said. "I'm from a planet called Akiridion. Akiridion- _five_ , technically."

"What."

"And our home planet was conquered, so we came here for _help_ -"

"So you're an alien."

Krel paused, and then nodded. "I said."

"Like E.T. Invader Zim."

"We're not here to _invade_!" Krel snapped.

Toby winced. "Sorry. I just meant - like, you're from a real whole other planet." Krel nodded, curt. "That is - _awesomesauce_. I've never met anyone from another planet before. High five."

Krel slapped Toby's hand in response, and his uncertainty with human culture made a little more sense, now. But he still looked...nervous.

"Dude, I'm not going to tell anyone. Really. Not even Jimbo. If you're just trying to lay low - oh! Were you trying to use the radio tower to do a 'phone home' thing?"

"Not…exactly." Krel sighed before squaring his shoulders and looking down straight at Toby. "But you're wrong. About not meeting anyone from another planet before."

"You're not going to tell me one of my friends is like an _evil_ alien, are you? Because I don't think we can handle something like that-"

"Your mother," Krel said.

"What."

"You mother...was from Akiridion. Like me. And Aja."

Some people would have been shocked at this revelation. They would have stumbled as their whole life was thrown into disarray, the realization that they were _not of this earth_.

But Toby had already had that freak-out.

"Would that explain how I can make myself float? Because it's been bothering Eli, trying to find out. His last theory was that I'm half-dragon, which is _crazy_ , because I'd know if my mom or dad were _dragons_ , and besides-"

"Dragons aren't real," Krel said.

Toby paused, looking at Krel carefully. "How do you know that?"

Krel shrugged. "Internet." He took another careful breath. "But yes, Laira had powerful gifts, making your inheritance of them unsurprising."

"Well…" Toby paused, looking for a response to all that. Because technically, this was big. His mother had always been...vague on her contribution to his ancestry; he'd always assumed she was sort of generically white. But on the other hand - he didn't have time to worry about his heritage, what with the end of the world looming. "That's...cool. Good to know. I probably will have like a _million_ questions, but probably later. Because this is-"

"I'm telling you because you need to know, Toby. Why we're here on Earth. What we're running from. What might be coming after you, some day."

...Toby hadn't expected to get any amazing news today - no sudden breakthroughs on fixing the Amulet, no insights about defeating Morgana. He had _not_ , however, expected things to get much _worse_.

Making the addition of a murderous alien cult to Toby's problems a _complete_ surprise.

\---

"Hello, Draal."

The words themselves weren't what made Draal's heart race, his blood chill. Even the tone - it was no different than Angor Rot's usual tone, the stern, too-serious voice that gave weight to his noble bearing.

The fact that the troll who spoke those words was supposed to be _dead_ was what made Draal panic. The voice was clear, so close that Angor Rot might have been standing next to him; Draal didn't dare turn to look, because if it was really Angor Rot, inexplicably alive…

"I didn't mean to do it. I didn't _want_ to do it."

"Of course. Gunmar was using the Decimaar Blade to control you. You were under the thrall of the most powerful compulsion spell in existence - without will or thought that Gunmar did not provide to you. Or so you've said."

Draal wanted to walk away - storm away from Angor Rot the way he could Kellor when she tried to press too hard, when he didn't want to think about this, _or_ the Eclipse Knights. But either this was just in Draal's head, at which point Angor Rot would go where he did, or this really _was_ Angor Rot's angry spirit, with much the same effect.

But that was just an excuse - he couldn't make his legs move; it was like he was caught in a daylight cage, helpless until the anchors themselves were moved.

"Under his control, you killed me - the one to whom you owe your first allegiance. And after that, you broke free, went on to help the Trollhunter escape Morgana."

"Yes." Draal remembered that moment, stone crumbling away from his blade, sharp, sick pain running along his chest, the sensation breaking through the dull haze that settled over Draal when Gunmar had used the Decimaar Blade on him.

"How fortunate you broke free. How _convenient_."

"W - what? I don't understand-"

"Either you are the first creature in recorded history to break the power of the Decimaar Blade, or…"

"Stop," Draal pleaded.

"Why? Are you afraid, Draal? Afraid of the _truth_?"

"Stop it," Draal repeated, and found the strength to turn.

He wished he hadn't.

Draal had always been creeped out by memorials made of troll corpses - even when well done, there was something unnerving about it. Angor Rot had not been put back together well. Stoneflesh chunks were pushed awkwardly together, joints grinding when he moved. Draal would have thought it merely a poorly made statue were it not for the dead white eyes glowing within his face.

The mouth opened, a jagged crevice that nearly split his face. "I can see - you would rather me accuse you of murder than the truth."

"Stop it."

"What will you do if I do not? Will you kill me? Destroy your mentor again rather than admit the truth?" 

"You're _dead_!" Draal roared. "If you are here, you are a phantasm, and I need not show you _any_ of the deference Angor Rot is due!"

"But you cannot _ignore_ me. You cannot ignore that you waited until I was _dead_ to throw off the shackles of the Decimaar Blade. That _however_ you found the strength to do so, it was not until I was _dead_. You have failed your duty. You have failed _me_. You have failed your _father_."

\---

"Eli?" Only silence (dead silence - not the echoes he associated with Mr. Strickler's basement) answered. Steve sighed. He'd hoped maybe the lights had gone out, but that was clearly not what had happened. With their loss of access to Dictatious' library, they'd been pumping the trolls for their recollections of the vague mythology behind the Lord of Flowers.

This was their third attempt at getting answers out of Draal, about which Eli was irritatingly optimistic. Given the fact the lights seemed to have gone off and Eli was nowhere to be found, Steve shared exactly none of his partner's optimism.

"Who's Eli?"

Steve froze, heart racing. There was a - _negative_ chance he'd heard what he thought he had, because that would mean-

A light flared, revealing, standing by the foot of the stairs to Mr. Strickler's basement, a man - tall, broad, blond hair cut to a military length, eyes the color of dried blood fixed on Steve. He smiled, toothlessly, and Steve's heartbeat skipped, erratic.

"Don't have anything to say to your old man, son?"

"You're not allowed to be here," Steve said, hoping his voice didn't waver, but certain it did. "I don't know about a lot of that - lawyer stuff, but Mom made sure I knew _that_."

Steve's dad snorted, shaking his head. "Come on, Stevie, don't be like that. Your mom and I had problems, sure, but you and me? We're fine. I taught you how to throw a football, remember? How to throw a punch." Steve winced and took a step back; his Dad's smile sharpened. "Jeez, kid, what's that look for? You're not letting anyone push you _around_ , are you? I taught you better than that."

Steve's dad _had_ taught him not to let anyone to push him around, but Steve wouldn't use the word 'better' to describe the lesson.

"I'm not going to talk to you."

"Not talking - what, because your _mother_ said so? Come on, kid, you're, what, seventeen? Don't let some woman push you around."

"You talk to your commanding officer that way?" Steve retorted, without thinking, but his body remembered enough, because he flinched when his father stepped toward him.

The man's gaze, so far friendly, cocky, shifted in an instant, tense, eyes wide, and Steve felt a moment of uncertainty during which his father dropped lower, hands out, palms toward him. "Hey, no, kiddo, I'm not gonna _hit_ you. I've been getting help, you know."

"Really?"

"Yeah!" Steve's dad's face shifted to something somber, expression flat. "Look, Stevie, I know I didn't always do the best job with you. That's why I'm _back_. You're my _son_." A soft smile crossed his face. "You even look like I did at your age."

Something in Steve - his gut, or heart, or _conscience_ , ached at that. He was sure there was a time being told he looked just like his dad would have made him ecstatic. But even _before_ he'd realized how much like his dad he'd been acting, Steve had hated any comparison between him and the old man.

"I don't want to be like you."

And at that, Steve's dad's face transformed, smile giving way to something narrow, darker, a fierce scowl.

"Do you think you have a choice, Stevie? Do you think that you can escape the call of your _blood_?" He stood, stepping closer, and for the first time, Steve noticed his father's left hand. At first glance, he thought his dad was wearing a glove, but closer, he could see the seam between hand and wrist, between...metal and flesh. There were no visible joints, or wires, or a skin coating.

" _Look at me_ when I'm talking to you!" Steve's dad shouted; he didn't look apologetic when Steve flinched back. Instead, he smirked when he saw Steve looking again. "Better. Now, you've _clearly_ forgotten what I taught you before your mom decided _lawyers_ got to have a say in how I run my marriage. So lesson one, kid: you don't listen to _her_ , you listen to _me_."

\---

Eli nudged Steve again, but the other boy didn't react. Not even to try and push Eli away, the way he had during their first impromptu sleepover when Steve had fallen asleep leaning against Eli's bed. Grabbing a broom, he did the same for Draal, who he presumed, as a veteran, should not be startled while asleep.

When that didn't yield any more productive results, Eli sighed. He'd hoped - but apparently the Nightmare King had finally pulled himself together and decided to pay Eli and his friends a visit.

"Hello? Nightmare King? I don't really 'get' why you're here. I mean, I broke the globe imprisoning your heart, which seems like maybe we did you a favor there, right? So maybe you could leave us alone?"

"Unlikely."

Eli didn't jump, didn't scream. He _did_ flinch, because while he could keep _quiet_ when startled it was still incredibly unnerving when someone snuck up on him. He turned, slowly; there was a man - sallow, long-faced, tall, taller than almost any other human Eli knew. The man's fingers were pressed against each other in a steeple.

"Have you ever heard the story of the frog and the scorpion?" the man asked. "It is an allegory of the futility of expecting one to change their nature. _My_ nature is rooted in fear - its creation and propagation. While...frustrating when my power was bound and subject to another's whims, it was being directed in a fashion I would have done so anyway." He stepped forward, leaning in to peer at Eli with golden eyes flecked with silver. "Do you know, I have not met a single creature in - _millions_ of years - who I could not drown in the fear of their greatest insecurities. I would very much like to know _how_ you are doing so."

"Um - _no_?"

The man shrugged, his joints moving oddly, a little unnatural. "It's largely immaterial. When your friends succumb to their fear, they will become Fearlings regardless of your apparent immunity."

"S - succumb?" Eli glanced down at Steve, and knowing now what the Nightmare King was doing to him, could see the darting of dreaming eyes. The tension of a body under great stress. Eli dropped next to Steve and shouted, "Steve! Snap out of it! It's just a dream!"

The Nightmare King laughed, a sharp, mocking sound. "There is _no_ power that can free your friend."

" _Steve_!"

\---

"You _see_ , Stevie?" Steve's dad asked, arm around Steve's shoulders. "It's a cycle - a circle, going round and round. Men like us don't _change_. Not our _natures_. Oh, sure, you can change your behavior for a while - but you'll forget yourself one day. Your little friend Pepperjack? You think he'll ever forget what you used to do to him?"

" _Steve_!" Steve winced at the panicked note in Eli's voice.

Steve's dad took a step away from him. "You can't watch yourself every moment of every day, to keep from slipping up. And that means you're _going_ to hurt him. You ever stay up at night wondering how badly? How much? Or have you deluded yourself into thinking you can avoid it?"

" **Steve**!"

There was something...strange about Eli's voice. More muted than Steve's dad, even though Steve knew Eli's voice better than his dad's, by now.

And at the sound, Steve's dad's face - shifted. He looked _confused_.

"Eli! I'm in here!" Steve shouted back. He couldn't say for certain what was going on, but Steve was certain if he could just see Eli was okay, they could figure things out.

Steve's dad smirked. "Do you think he's ready to meet the parents, Stevie?"

"Eli's already _met_ my mom," Steve snapped, "and if I could manage it, I'd make sure the first time he met _you_ would be at your funeral."

"Harsh words, Stevie. Not the sort of thing you can un-say."

Steve stepped back from his father, finding his hands clenched tight by his sides. He loosened them, took a deep breath. "I don't want him to meet you. I don't want him - anyone - to think about _you_ when they think about me. I'm not you, _Dad_. I'm not going to hurt - anyone - the way you did."

"Have you ever heard the story of the frog and the scorpion? You can't change your _nature_ , Stevie-"

" _Yeah_? You think I can't decide what I _do_? I'm not a - _robot_! I can fucking choose to act like a decent human being as much as I want. And it's not because I'm _afraid_ \- it's because I _know_ what being terrible gets me, and it _sucks_." Steve, feeling bold, stepped back up to his dad, glaring. “Mom’s met someone else, you know. Better for me - better for _her_. He cares about us - won’t leave me the fuck alone.”

Steve’s dad gave a sharp smile, eyes narrow. “Sounds like you found someone, too.” He snorted. “Does your new dad know you’re a sissy?”

Steve punched his father, and everything around him fractured.

Steve was down, flat against something unyielding, cold, and Eli was crouched over him, yelling.

“-okay?”

“Will you kindly shut up?” a smooth voice drawled. “There is nothing-“

“What the _fuck_ is going on?” Steve struggled to sit up.

“ _Steve_!” Steve could only grunt as Eli ran into him, nearly sending him back onto the floor. The smaller boy’s arms were tight around his chest; it was honestly a little uncomfortable, but for as confused and weird Steve felt, it was probably worse from the outside.

“Hey, I’m fine. I wouldn’t leave my Pepperbuddy in the lurch.”

A tall, narrow man slid into Steve’s field of vision, sneering. “A heartwarming sentiment, but quite immaterial. In millions of years, no creature has been drawn out of my nightmares, no matter _how_ loved they were.”

Steve’s stomach jerked uncomfortably as he looked to Eli. The other boy didn’t protest, as Steve might have. Was Eli...obviously he was _gay_ \- Steve was pretty sure he’d interrupted a kiss between Eli and Toby when he’d crashed the Spring Fling. But _Steve_ wasn’t-

The tall man shook his head. “So unless you-“ He froze, staring at Eli, the gold in his eyes dulling until they were almost all silver. “ _Oh_.” He took a quick step away from Steve and Eli, paused, and then took another. His expression shifted into a slick smile; Steve clenched a fist, having met enough men like this one not to trust a smile like that.

“Well. I must say you have passed my test quite admirably. Certainly that warrants releasing your other friend.” He waved aimlessly to the side, and Steve heard a rumbling sound from, he hoped, Draal.

“...A _test_?” Eli squawked. 

“Of course. You proved yourselves quite capable when facing the Polymorph. I wished to know how far that capability reached.”

“You said no one ever escaped your dreams!” Steve snapped, and the man shrugged.

“I did not say I expected you to pass. But now that you have, I have a proposition for you.”

“...What sort of proposition?”

And Eli was suspicious, but not suspicious enough. He didn’t seem to realize what it meant that the man had put distance between them. 

He was _frightened_ of them. Whatever the man might pretend, _Eli_ had the leverage here.

“I have a...problem I need help resolving. And I have intelligence I believe you will want from me."

"What _sort_ of intelligence?"

"You are seeking knowledge of the Lord of Flowers. I _knew_ him, once."

"Good," Eli said. "Then you can tell us all about him in exchange for letting you _out_ of that dumb artifact."

The man's expression - sort of froze. Still smiling, but...well, probably fighting back a glare. "And why would I do that?"

"Because you're hoping if I agree to a deal with you I'll forget I _did you a favor_. You _owe_ us, and a little bit of information about someone you haven't even seen for a couple thousand years seems like a good deal for getting out of it."

...Steve kept discovering new ways he'd underestimated Eli.

\---

When Aster the magic rabbit had suggested they make a detour from California to New Jersey, Wumpa had been against it. King Toby needed her help, and he wasn't going to get it if Wumpa was on the other side of the continent.

"Look, I'm not _against_ helping out your reforged king, but one troll isn't going to make much of a difference in defeating a faerie queen."

"What about one troll and magic rabbit?"

Aster had snorted at that. "I don't know if you've noticed, but I'm not exactly in fighting shape. If there's any help to be had, it'll be in New Jersey."

He had been silent on _what_ , exactly, he expected to find in New Jersey, but once the Sleeping God cultists caught up with them again, they didn't have much time to discuss it. They didn't see the leader again; it was too much to hope Wumpa had killed him, Aster muttered, but he was likely wary of her. With only apprentice mages, the group was much less threatening - none of them seemed to use much magic beyond the enhancing power of their grails. But they were fast, and tireless. Wumpa herself was fast and had a proper Quagawump's stamina, so it wasn't _hard_ to stay ahead of them.

Aster forced them to take a wide circuit around Washington, somehow managing to look more nervous the entire time.

And then they were a day away from New Jersey, sleeping in an abandoned barn. Aster was sprawled out next to Wumpa. She wasn't sure, but he didn't look as nervous as he had before.

"Aster? What...is in New Jersey?"

He sighed, breathing steadily as he stared out at the sky lightening in anticipation of dawn. "It's not like a - weapon, or anything. Not the Light of Creation, or some secret weakness of Morgana's. There was a Heartstone there, once, and a notebook I kept. There are secrets, there - things I've forgotten, or never really learned, just had written down."

"A notebook?"

Aster flicked an ear at Wumpa, and his voice was tense, irritated. "Of course. Master sorcerers like Morgana are stronger than ordinary people like us - but it's by _orders of magnitude_. Not two or three times as powerful, but _hundreds_. **Thousands**. The only way you beat somebody like that is by knowing something they _don't_. There are things in there from a time _before_ Morgana, so there's a good chance I can find something to help."

"Is there something to help against your Sleeping God?"

Aster's ears drooped and he bunched up, tense again. "I very much doubt it. The Great Prison was for foes we couldn't kill, even then. And Blood Magic - it's like money. Once you've got enough of it, you can get away spending barely any of it day to day while the mass of it - appreciates. There wasn't a creature in existence that could match him ten thousand years ago, and there isn't one now."

Wumpa...wasn't about to argue with Aster, who seemed to know a lot about this. But as she drifted off to sleep around mid-day, a thought occurred to her.

If there were _no_ limit to the Sleeping God's power, he wouldn't need cultists. And the fact that he _slept_ meant either he was waiting, gathering power until he could match some potential threat...or that something already _had_ hurt him.

But she had no idea who might have _that_ knowledge, if Aster didn't.


	4. Body and Soul

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Running out of time, the Trollhunters make a decision, while Dictatious receives a new mission.

Mordred woke to an insistent, repeated ringing; at first he thought he was - well, not _home_ , Mordred had always favored his father's realm over his mother's. But the sound of bells was something that wouldn't be out of place in Faerie.

But then the touch of cotton against his skin, warmth of the room around him - _real_ sensations - drew Mordred back to the present, filling in the year or so of memories that explained where he was and why.

The first being the reminder that his skin - pale, battle-scarred, ill-cared-for, wasn't _his_ skin, but Jim Lake Jr.'s. Because Mordred was, of course, dead.

The ringing didn't allow more introspection, especially because Dr. Lake needed her sleep (despite living in Jim's head for a year, Mordred had proven only slightly more capable in the kitchen as Dr. Lake, meaning the most he could do to keep Jim's mother safe was to do everything in his power to make sure she slept). So Mordred rolled out of bed, not bothering with slippers because he had walked barefoot in places more dangerous than the Lake home, and hurried downstairs to answer the door.

Mordred had not been raised to open the door without confirming the identity of any visitor, so he peered through the peephole, one hand on the doorknob. What appeared to be Toby Domzalski waved back at him.

" _Guten tag_ ," Mordred called.

"What?" Toby demanded.

Mordred pulled the door open and gave Toby a quick grin. "Had to make sure you weren't Otto Scarbach."

"Huh." Toby looked thoughtful for a moment, only, before he suddenly darted forward, grabbing Mordred's arm. "Mord - Ji - _Dude_! We gotta go!"

"What? No. Why? You didn't find the Questing Beast, did you?"

"What?" Toby stopped pulling, brow furrowing.

Mordred shook his head, trying to clear the shadows of his life in Camelot from his thoughts before he did something embarrassing. "It's something - my brother would do, show up to drag me out on some ill-advised quest."

"Gawain, you mean?"

Mordred was half-fae, so had learned magic concurrently with _language_. As a result, panicked by the question, he yanked Toby into the house with a twitch of his finger and barely a thought; Mordred even silenced the space around them, because he was used to Gawain squawking whenever Mordred grabbed him telekinetically.

" _What made you say that_?" Mordred whispered. Toby just stared at him, mouth working uselessly, as Mordred's panic spiraled. There were so many things he didn't want to talk about, things he didn't want to explain. Toby and Dr. Lake were the only ones who knew who he was, but even they didn't really _know_. How he couldn't work up the nerve to speak to Gawain, first out of fear that Gawain might do something rash before understanding they had _needed_ the Amulet, which meant Mordred had to die. And then after because...he didn't know how to explain why he'd ignored Gawain for so long.

Toby made an emphatic gesture at his throat, startling Mordred with the realization he hadn't cancelled the silence spell. Flushing, he ended the spell with a chopping motion.

"-can't even - _hey_ , I can hear myself again!" Toby grinned and dragged Mordred into a sideways hug. "Way to go, dude; I did _not_ want to be silent for the rest of my life, like some sort of mime wizard."

"Why." Toby shut his mouth with a click. "Why did you think Gawain's my brother?"

Toby shrugged. "Process of elimination. Jim said Gawain became the first Trollhunter to avenge Arthur's son, but said he was - _young_. About your age, I bet. I have to admit I sort of guessed, but, like, an _educated_ guess. Was he not?" He gasped. "He wasn't like, your ex-boyfriend or something, was he?"

And all of Mordred's tension left him as a laugh, helpless, stuttering, and uncontrollable, because-

" _No_. No." Mordred snickered, shaking his head. " _God_ , no. He was my - first cousin, technically. But we were running around Camelot with each other our whole lives, so…" He shrugged, and they fell silent a moment.

"So," Toby said, " _did_ you have a - well, a partner, or whatever? Way back in the Middle Ages?"

Toby didn't necessarily _pry_ a lot, which mean, Mordred would bet, Toby was invested in the answer to the question. "Are you trying to figure out if I'm gay?"

Toby shrugged, but he didn't quite meet Mordred's eyes. "I don't know a lot about you, dude. All I got to go on is what stories say, and some of that stuff is super creepy. Your mom and dad aren't _really_ siblings, are they?"

" _No_!"

"Well there you go! I don't know shit about you, and you've been inside Jim's head for _ages_."

The _implication_ sent Mordred's cheeks flushing; he'd managed nearly a month without seeing Jim naked or any more...contact than was absolutely necessary. _Thinking_ about any subject remotely relating to romance was off limits until Mordred's thoughts stopped having an effect on Jim's body.

"Look, I - we can figure out a way to talk once Jim's got his body back, but right now…"

"It's weird. I get it." Toby stood bolt upright suddenly. "Oh! I forgot why I came here! Mor - Arthur, we're _doing it_!"

"Doing - what?" Mordred wasn't certain if this was a new topic, or if they were still talking about-

"Off to see the wizard, dude. The Toymaker!"

Mordred's stomach lurched; he felt off-balance, catching a hand on Toby's shoulder to steady himself. He'd been aware of the ticking clock on Jim's survival, the need to find someone to fix the Amulet of Daylight and put Jim back in charge of his own body. But he'd resigned himself to Merlin being the one to do it.

"What happened to…"

"Even Blinky agreed _no one_ knows where Merlin lives. While the Toymaker's workshop is apparently a matter of public record. So we're _going_! _We're going to get Jim back_!"

"Wait, we've-" Mordred took a step back when Toby made a grab for his hand. "Toby. Wait."

Toby squinted, suspicious, at Mordred. "Dude? We're getting Jim back, right?"

"Yes, of course. Just - we should get Dr. Lake."

"Oh my gosh you're right!" Toby bolted upstairs, leaving Mordred alone, briefly, in the living room.

Only briefly, though.

"You aren't planning to run, are you?" Mordred yelped and tripped, falling heavily on the couch. Archimedes was perched just behind him, twisting his head around as he peered at Mordred with wide, baleful eyes.

"Of course not! If I don't give Jim his body back-"

"You and I both know there are ways you could keep this body for yourself - more if you were willing to ride a rotting corpse." The familiar hooted imperiously and flared his wings wide, like a dragon's threat display, if a dragon were a foot tall and covered in feathers.

"And if you were seriously worried about that, you'd have told Dr. Lake."

Archimedes huffed. "If you think Dr. Lake hasn't taught herself enough about Blood Magic to know at least two ways you could steal her son's body, you haven't been paying attention."

Mordred grimaced at that; of course he'd noticed Dr Lake's study of Blood Magic, the books she'd borrowed from Blinky before his library had become enemy territory, and questionable references she consulted at breakfast. It was worrying, seeing a doctor so interested in Blood Magic. They were the most likely to realize Blood Magic could be used to heal, and that the required sacrifice could include the caster's own health. He didn't want to think about what she might do if their plan to fix the Amulet failed.

But yes, she'd know how Mordred could steal Jim's body for good. And despite that, she'd given Mordred relative freedom. _Archimedes_ was clearly suspicious that Mordred would take this opportunity to escape the prison of the Amulet of Daylight; he couldn't imagine what Dr. Lake saw in Mordred that _she_ wasn't.

But Toby and Dr. Lake arrived before Mordred could think more on that - Dr. Lake disheveled and just tugging on a sweater. She glanced briefly at Archimedes before her gaze settled on Mordred, and he flushed, wondering if she knew the topic of their conversation.

"Do we need anything, Toby?" Dr. Lake asked.

"Nope! Just ourselves."

"Then let's go."

Toby's Nana was serving tea to Blinky, Aaarrrgghh, and Mr. Strickler. She waved at Dr. Lake as they stepped into the Domzalski home.

Dr. Lake waved back. "Nancy." She scanned the group crowded in the Domzalskis' kitchen. "Is this everyone?"

"Yes. Kellor is unwilling to commit herself or Draal to this endeavor, and none of your other friends have secured permission to join us."

"Wakka!" A green goblin poked their head through the cat flap, scrambling into the house. Something like a lizard with vermillion scales clambered through after them, paused, and then shook themself, revealing thin, translucent membranes stretching from their back.

Mordred's breath caught and he dropped down next to the two creatures. " _Peace_ , little one," he said to the lizard, who twisted their head around and snapped at his thumb. Mordred pulled his hand back and laughed. No one else seemed amused, as Toby and Dr. Lake took half steps toward him.

"Dude-"

"It's alright," Mordred replied, poking at the pseudodragon's tail with one hand while he dangled his other hand just out of the creature's reach. "Pseudodragons are mostly docile - like housecats with soporific venom."

The goblin pinned Mordred's wrist, allowing the pseudodragon to pounce, gnawing gently on Mordred's (well, Jim's) fingers. "And who are you?"

"That's Steve's...friend or whatever," Toby said. "Squab."

"Chaka!"

"Ally or no, what is he doing here?"

"Wakka wakka!"

"I think he's here to help," Toby said. "Right?"

The goblin, Squab, raised a thumb.

"Well, whatever assistance 'Squab' and a miniature lizard will provide, we really need to go." Mr. Strickler glanced across the assembled people and added, "We will need several vehicles."

"Where _are_ we going, Walter?"

"Ultimately? At or around the North Pole, where the Toymaker is said to reside. But immediately, our destination is a Gyre station buried near the Mount Wilson Observatory."

"The Gyre?" Toby demanded. "But what about Gunmar?"

"It is quite impossible for any force to police all Gyre stations," Blinky replied, "and Stricklander is certain this particular station is not well-remembered. And as for the Toymaker's station, well…"

"Unwelcome visitors don't get to see Toymaker," Aaarrrgghh said.

"And how do we know if _we're_ welcome?" Mordred asked. The trolls didn't reply, which made clear how desperate they were in their inability to find Merlin, hoping the Toymaker would see them as friends.

That put a damper on even Toby's enthusiasm as they joined Dr. Lake in her car, Blinky crouched in the back, and Aaarrrgghh in the back of Mr. Strickler's. The drive along increasingly remote roads up into the mountains was silent, tense.

Mr. Strickler led them to an overgrown cavern just in sight of the white dome of the observatory, shedding his human form as he stepped into the shade of the cave. It was still strange to see a changeling with such effortless control of their shape; Mordred remembered the first changelings, who were prone to reverting to troll form when they lost concentration or sneezed. Seeing Blinky join Strickler, Mordred remembered, too, another Galadrigal, a voice lulling him to sleep reading Aristotle, pausing every now and again to mock the human philosopher. 

(He remembered, too, another Krubera, massive, gentle, singing a lullaby to him, singing of the demon who would envelop his soul, the troll who would quicken his mind, and the elf who would possess his heart.)

Humans and trolls (and whatever Toby was) traveled together into the cavern, deep down until they found it, a Gyre station covered in dust and rust, connected to the main Gyre rails by moss-covered tracks.

"Huh, looks like no one's been here in forever," Toby mused.

"Which is exactly the point," Mr. Strickler replied. "While it is not inconceivable Morgana has placed guards near the Toymaker's workshop, I doubted she would remember this station. Now let's go."

"You said we're going to the North Pole - should we have packed swea-"

Dr. Lake's question was cut off when the Gyre exploded into motion, sending them careening along rails set in place ages ago, headed north, north, north.

They were still underground, so when the Gyre slammed to a halt, it was cool, but not bitterly cold, as it would be on the surface. The walls, though, covered in ice, glittered, sending sparks of rainbow light dancing through the chamber.

The pseudodragon moved first, scrambling over the edge of the Gyre and leaping into the air to make a slow circuit of the chamber, some fifty feet across. As they moved, violet light sparked along their wings. Toby yelped in surprise at the first spark, but Mordred grabbed his shoulder and shook his head when Toby met his eyes. Like pure dragons, pseudodragons were highly resistant to magic, and thus, if they could be persuaded, excellent scouts for magical traps. When the pseudodragon landed back on the Gyre, they moved cautiously, a little uncertain.

Squab hooted before looking up at Blinky. "Chaka…"

Blinky paled. "Oh dear."

"What?" Toby demanded.

"It seems there will be some difficulty navigating this room. It might be advisable to regroup."

"Quite impossible," Mr. Strickler said. "The Gyre appears to have locked itself."

"Ho ho ho ho ho." The laughter boomed through the chamber; it took a moment, scanning the room, to find the source at the far edge of the chamber, a white-haired man, tall, broad, sporting a flowing beard. Blue eyes gleamed the shade of twilight, above a mouth twisted in a smirk. He wore a heavy red coat set about with half a dozen scabbards. "I see you found my little trick."

"Yes, I'm afraid we did."

The man shrugged, stepping forward into the room proper. Multicolored flames washed over his shoulders as he moved, wards testing him and letting him pass. "I do not only receive customers here. Enemies, rivals, and those who would prefer I merely submit to their demands. So I've found it's best to hold my visitors until I can decide what should be done with them."

"We're here to see the Toymaker," Dr. Lake said. "So if you aren't him, we apologize for the error, but we need to go-"

"The Toymaker?" The man chuckled. "And what sort of toys do you want from him? Weapons to destroy whole civilizations? Armor to shield you while you bring death to your enemies? Tools to rip the world apart?"

"I just want my son back!" Dr. Lake snapped.

At that, the man's smirk faded, his gaze softening, brows falling. "Madam, my deepest condolences, but no magic can bring back the dead, not in any way you would wish on someone you love."

Dr. Lake gave a sharp glance at Mr. Strickler, who straightened, stood taller. "Pardon us...sir, but that is not what my friend is referring to. Her son is the bearer of the Amulet of Daylight-"

"And wishes to sever his bond to the artifact?" the man asked. "Theoretically possible, though the consequences of failure may be dire."

Mordred didn't share the man's optimism, but kept his mouth shut while Dr. Lake stiffened, clearly having never before heard the suggestion Jim could stop being the Trollhunter.

"As things are, I don't believe the Toymaker could accomplish that. The Amulet has been damaged, and the Trollhunter-"

"And you didn't bring him _here_?" the man demanded. "Without his vessel-"

"His vessel is right here," Mordred interrupted, earning a startled glance from the man, and then, after a moment, an intense stare. Mordred didn't flinch away from the attention, even as the man stepped closer, peering at Mordred's eyes.

At last the man pulled back, straight up, face transforming into a beaming grin. "Well! If that's the case, I'd be happy to help you! _Srozhdyestvom Hristovym_!" The rainbow light reflecting off the icy walls dimmed, and after a moment, the man looked up at all of them, raising his eyebrows. "Well? Come on! We don't have all day."

"You said - _are_ you the Toymaker?" Dr. Lake asked hesitantly. 

"Yes, naturally! Nicholas St. North, at your service. And I'm not joking about hurrying; whether or not you've got someone parked inside your son's body to keep it alive, it's not healthy to keep body and soul apart for so long."

And though there was a sense of relief at Nicholas' offer of help, Mordred saw the glances between Dr. Lake and Toby, who had received the most complete explanation of what the Amulet of Daylight did to its wearer, and therefore had most reason to worry about whether Jim's soul was considered to be 'apart' from his body during the year or so it'd been bound to the Amulet of Daylight.

\---

"Hey, Four-Eyes."

Dictatious bit back a snide response before he could tell off the Pale Lady's familiar; they were all here only on Morgana's sufferance, so offending her avatar could not end well. Instead he looked up from his desk to meet Raum's dark eyes. The crow let out a long croak.

"Raum. I didn't expect a summons from Her Grace."

Raum chattered in response. "It's not your job to question Morgana's whims."

"Of course not."

"Of course," Raum muttered, shifting from one leg to another, "this isn't exactly an official visit."

"What-"

" _Don't ask_ ," Raum hissed. "You've never asked, Galadrigal, and I need you not to."

Startled by the vehemence, Dictatious stepped back from the crow. But his mind was racing at the same time. Raum possessed vast oracular powers, and was capable of answering one question asked by any one person with perfect accuracy. Raum's demand, though, suggested he could not use that power for his own benefit, that if he wanted an answer, the question had to come from someone else.

"You need me to ask you something."

"Maybe. I need you to do something first."

"Something...Morgana didn't ask you to."

Raum turned his head, and for a moment, Dictatious saw an emerald gleam within his eyes. "Not...exactly. You see, I'm a familiar. It means I do what my master asks, but it also means I _must_ do as my master _commands_. So I'd like you to imagine something. That ages ago, I received a command, one that would bind me until the end of time. That since then, my mistress has changed, been twisted by her own rage and misery. That I worry now, were she to see me acting to fulfill that order, she might take steps to stop me." Raum ducked his head. "It's the familiar's paradox, you see - is it betrayal to act against your master's _wishes_ for the sake of their _well-being_?"

Dictatious ran that through his mind a few times; it was easy to see how a command given _before_ might be something Morgana, driven mad with grief and fury, would not wish fulfilled. "So...to protect her, to obey that original command, you must risk disobeying her _now_."

"Wrong!" Raum snapped, flapping at Dictatious. "To obey her original command, I must saddle _another_ with the task - one not subject to her control."

Dictatious felt a jolt along his spine. He'd already worked in secret to release Morgana from her prison, and didn't relish another betrayal. "There are other people who could do this for you-"

" _There aren't_ ," Raum retorted. "I can pay great ransoms, steal any treasure, topple whole civilizations, but to entrust this task to one who did it for a _price_ would be foolish. You, though...I think you might do it just because I asked."

Dictatious' stomach churned, an anxious flutter. He could imagine only one reason Raum would expect only Dictatious to care about a task, and he wasn't certain he was up to it. He'd betrayed his brother, and doubted any attempt to help him would be greeted with suspicion.

"...You have yet to tell me what you want me to do," he muttered.

"I have been spying on the Trollhunters," Raum said. "And made a fantastic discovery. Were _you_ aware Jim Lake Jr. isn't dead?"

"Even if he is hanging on, without his soul-"

"He is _conscious_ ," Raum hissed. "At first I didn't know _how_ , but now - when the Amulet of Daylight was broken, the spirit bound within it fled into _Jim's_ body."

Dictatious snorted. "Impossible. The power bound to a phylactery holds none of the consciousness of the sacrifice."

"Merlin, it seems, kept many secrets about the Amulet of Daylight, including, it seems, what became of the sacrifice."

"The sacrifice - we had always believed it was Morgana's hand!"

Raum chittered. " _Think_ , Dictatious. If Morgana's flesh was bound into the Amulet, her voice would have whispered to every Trollhunter, twisting Merlin's puppets to her own ends."

"Then what-"

"It was my duty to protect Mordred Le Fey, and so long as his spirit, his _will_ , remains in this world, it _remains_ my duty."

\---

Shawn, the last Trollhunter before Jim, looked old - perhaps ten or fifteen years more than his twenty-eight years. The job aged you, and not just because of the stress. Tiffany had explained, when Jim had awoken in the dream-realm of the other Trollhunters, how the separation of soul from body effected by the Amulet of Daylight put strain on the body, on the mind.

"I've spent like a year doing nothing but thinking about my time as the Trollhunter, and all I can figure is - Merlin doesn't know what he's doing. There should have been a - secret society, or something, training, supporting us. We should have been allowed to pick successors. Something, _anything_ , for some fu - fudging _continuity_." His face, careworn, tanned, scarred, was twisted into a scowl.

"What about the old Trollhunters? I talked to Sloane, and Tiffany a lot." Jim hadn't mentioned Arthur (Morgana?) to any of them, not since Morgana had broken the Amulet and trapped Jim here.

Shawn huffed. "You've been talking to them, you know half of them are - _done_. Worn out. And the rest...I don't know how the Amulet works, but they're - out of it. I was too, most of the time. If Merlin wanted us to counsel you, he did a poor job of this." He scratched at the back of his neck with a growl. "And I think - everything I've ever read or watched made Merlin out to be this wise, powerful wizard, but - he was just a dude. A magic one, sure, but - we're talking planning a war fifteen hundred years out."

"I wouldn't write Merlin off so easily."

Jim stiffened, and saw a flicker of surprise in Shawn's tired brown eyes. Jim turned slowly, and there he was, the boy who'd introduced himself as Arthur, not the king, slender, still a few inches taller than Jim. His hair, iridescent like a raven's wing, hung loose around his face, long, curved, delicate, skin umber-dark. Faceted eyes, green like spring, were fixed on Jim, wide, uncertain, and his lips were parted, uncertain, quiet.

Despite himself, Jim's heart skipped a beat, a flutter of ease, of happiness, at the face of one of the three people he'd been closest to before the battle with Morgana. But Jim didn't know who Arthur really was - knew only snippets of Arthur's evasions and half-truths. He couldn't trust him. 

"Hi," Jim ground out.

Arthur glanced at Shawn, who was staring at him with wide eyes. "Can we have a minute?"

Shawn shook his head, jerkily, then paused, nodded, and scrambled up from the chairs that were the easiest furniture to conjure in the Void. There was something in that wide gaze, disbelief or awe, that should have meant something to Jim, but he was still off-balance seeing Arthur again, so didn't have time to ask before Shawn was gone and Arthur was standing next to the seat he'd vacated.

"Can I sit?"

"I don't know. I don't know...who you are."

Arthur huffed, letting his head drop, hair falling to conceal his face. "You do, Jim. Just because I never told you my name-"

"I _don't_!" Jim felt his fists at his side, knew that if he'd been in the real world, the Amulet would be in his grasp. He felt tears at the edge of his eyes. "I don't know _who you are_. You're the only spirit in the Amulet of Daylight who isn't a Trollhunter. Which means I - _think_ I know who you are. Merlin used a piece of Morgana to forge the Amulet, which makes you-"

"Her son," Arthur said, quiet. "Mordred. Half-human, half-fae, and the prince of Camelot, Arthur's only child. I had two brothers - in spirit, if not blood, one I've hid from for over a thousand years because I don't know how to explain why I let Merlin spill my blood to make the Amulet." He reached up to brush his hair away from his eyes, which were glittering, now, wet. "The other - legend says he's dead, and he'd have to be, a thousand years afterward."

And - it was simple, hearing that. And Jim wanted to believe it was that simple. But Archimedes had told Jim _Morgana_ had killed King Arthur's son, meaning one of them was lying.

...Except that wasn't it at all.

Archimedes had told Jim Morgana had been condemned to death for the crime of killing King Arthur's son. He'd never said she'd actually done it.

Whether or not Archimedes knew the truth, _Merlin_ had. He'd killed Morgana's son and lied to King Arthur so he'd back Merlin up when she tried to retaliate.

"...This never was about the trolls, was it?" Jim asked. "Never about protecting humanity or anything like that. It was about Morgana."

Arthur - _Mordred_ \- nodded. "You saw - _felt_ her power. Merlin thought it needed to be contained. I didn't think - everything would happen so fast. That I'd - that I - my fault-"

And at that Jim rose, crossed the space between them, and pulled the taller boy into a tight embrace; Mordred stiffened, briefly, before letting his head fall to rest on top of Jim's, though his arms stayed hanging at his side.

And Jim felt tension easing from his chest, because he'd been wavering between his doubts and his - heart, between the trust he'd given Mordred, the care he'd grown to have for him, and Sloane's suggestions of a darker motivation. But the feel, or the imagined sensation, however these things worked in the Void, of Mordred hesitantly raising his hands to wrap around Jim's hips, the flicker of tears falling from the other boy's eyes, left him certain Sloane's paranoia was misplaced.

Jim let the silence stretch on for a few long moments before he stepped back and gave Mordred a weak smile. Mordred's lips twisted into a mirror of Jim's own smile.

"It's not your fault," Jim said. "Any of it. You couldn't know how Merlin would go about all of this. It couldn't have been easy, doing something you knew would...hurt your mother."

Mordred's eyes fluttered closed, his smile fading. "...It wasn't about her. It was - Gawain, and Galahad. But...no. It wasn't."

"Fuck," Jim whispered, shaking his head. He wondered, if he'd been in Mordred's shoes, if his mother was a threat to Toby, if he could-

"Just, _fuck_ ," he repeated. "You're fucking _amazing_ , you know that?"

"What?" Mordred's head snapped up, eyes wide; he looked so startled, Jim almost wanted to laugh.

"Come on, you made this - _impossible_ decision, and still have the guts to come _apologize_ to me about all this." Jim smiled at Mordred, who was still staring blankly at him. "If you'd been the first Trollhunter, there wouldn't have been - Killahead. You'd have ended the whole thing."

Mordred sputtered, waving one hand vaguely, and it was new, surprising, to see him looking - like a teenager, like someone still uncomfortable in his own skin (or whatever). "I'm not a warrior-"

" _Neither am I_. I've surrounded myself with - fighters and sorcerers and trolls and humans, and _that's_ what the Trollhunter always should have been. And you - son of King Arthur, and his whole Round Table deal - would've picked up on that."

And at that, Mordred smiled, weak, uncertain, eyes still a little wet, hands half-curled, as if he wanted to clench them tight. "...Thanks."

"So...do you want to hang or whatever? I mean, I know we were gonna end up stuck in the infinite Void forever together eventually, but-"

"Oh." Mordred's eyes went wide, mouth opening into a little 'o'. "That's not - I haven't been sulking, or working up the courage to talk to you, Jim. Morgana _broke_ the Amulet. All of you were stuck - here, and I...sort of took over your body." He shrugged, mouth flickering into a slight frown. "I know I said I wouldn't unless it was an emergency, but-"

"Sounds like it was an emergency," Jim agreed.

Mordred smiled, briefly. "And it's not like I was _pretending_ to be you - I let Toby and your mom know what was up. Um. We had Thanksgiving at the Domzalskis', because I'm not really handy in the kitchen."

"Yeah, but how are you here _now_?"

Mordred grinned and stepped back, arms spread out. "Morgana didn't _destroy_ the Amulet, just _broke_ it. So we tracked down this artificer - this cool old dude named Nick - and asked him to help out."

"What-"

"Body's yours again, Jimbo," Mordred replied. "As soon as you wake up. I just wanted - a minute to make sure we were okay, before you got mobbed."

And that prompted Jim to step in and hug Mordred again, because he'd let himself get convinced by Sloane's paranoid theories, and Mordred had still worked to keep Jim up and about, to fix the Amulet, to get Jim back in his own body.

...He was another friend Jim didn't really deserve, but was lucky to have.

"You should go," Mordred said after a moment. "There's some people out there eager to see you. And _I'm_ not going anywhere."


	5. The Exorcism of Claire Nunez

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Claire isn't going to sit back and let an evil sorceress possess her again, so she enters the Shadow Realm to challenge Morgana for possession of her soul.
> 
> ...It's time to duel.

The Shadowstaff sat on the foot of Claire's bed, fully extended, the dark crystals extended from the rocklike handle. Claire sat at the head of her bed, gaze fixed on the staff. She hadn't touched it since saving the humans and few trolls she could from the battle against Morgana, but had still felt the touch of the sorceress' awareness rising in her mind, brief flashes of influence that she'd so far been able to shake away.

But she couldn't keep on forever. Her friends had helped her break free of Morgana's control before, but that kept her free of Morgana only so long as she didn't need the full power of the Shadowstaff.

The problem was, she'd decided, was that there was a fragment of Morgana inside the staff, her will or something else, that could hijack anyone who delved too deeply into it. Meaning there were two ways around the problem:

Find it, rip it out, and replace it with a piece of _Claire_.

Or force the sorceress to relinquish her hold on the Shadowstaff.

Neither option was appetizing, but ever since Enrique had been kidnapped, Claire's life had been filled with unappetizing choices.

Which choice Claire took, she suspected, said something about what sort of mage she wanted to be. She could be bloody and brutal, tearing things apart, tearing _herself_ apart, for her magic, or could be cunning and strong-willed, outwitting a millennia-old faerie queen.

She hadn't consulted anyone, because she was certain she could predict the opinion of everyone she knew. Darci would be down for making the Shadowstaff the Claire-staff, and Mary for trying to outwit Morgana. Eli would be fascinated by the possibilities of hijacking Morgana's tool, and Steve would be in favor of stealing the staff's power for herself. Rico would come down on the side of not directly confronting the sorceress, as would, she suspected, Jim. Toby was squeamish about Blood Magic, and thought Claire was clever enough to outwit anyone. The trolls, she'd seen, were casual about sympathetic magic, but Blinky would worry that she couldn't draw the same power out of the staff if it wasn't connected to Morgana.

Her parents would be against the whole endeavor.

But Claire didn't need to hear their opinions. If she wanted to be a sorceress who could face down Morgana, she needed...to face down Morgana.

So she set a stack of envelopes - one for her parents, one for Rico, one for Mary and Darci - on her bedside table, and reached a hand out to the Shadowstaff. It wouldn't be hard to open a portal to the Shadow Realm - the trick was opening a portal that went somewhere _other than_ the Shadow Realm. But Claire wasn't just trying to get to the Shadow Realm; she was trying to get someone else's attention at the same time. So Claire dug deep, until she felt it, the roiling mass of shadow deep within the Shadowstaff, and tore a hole in space.

She realized a moment too late that to get Morgana's attention she needed to open a _big_ hole, one large enough for her bed to fall through.

...Presuming she got out of this with her soul intact, her parents were going to be _pissed_.

She'd been in the Shadow Realm, for more than an instant, once before. Then, it had been empty of life, a collection of rocky isles and items lost and forgotten from the world of light. There had been a - _present_ absence, a conscious will drawing the realm to darkness and emptiness.

 _Now_ , it was…

Dark, of course. And empty, still. But the darkness was in shades of violet, with whorls of motion within it. And there was a pattern to the distant isles, a broken circle a mile or more across. It was a boundary, like an arena or-

"Well, well, well. What do we have here?"

Claire had only vague memories of her last meeting with Morgana. Rico had explained the power faeries possessed, called 'glamour'. Whether beautiful or ugly, a faerie could overwhelm mortals with the sight of them. So Claire's memory of the sorceress' appearance was...an emerald and sapphire shining in the shadow of the shattered Heartstone.

But she had foregone her glamour (it took effort, concentration, which suggested the sorcerer didn't want to risk wasting either), so Claire got her first real look at Morgana le Fey. She was slender, skin smooth and pale as rosy cream. Her left hand was silver, so delicate that if Claire didn't know the sorceress had lost her hand, she wouldn't have known it was a prosthetic. Her left eye gleamed with sapphire light, while her right was like an emerald in the darkness. Dark hair streamed away from her, a halo of black against the purple mists, a background to the gold hugging her form.

Claire tightened her grip on the Shadowstaff, but pulled it loose against her side; there wouldn't be much point using it against Morgana. She wondered if she should have changed before doing this. _Mary_ would have suggested dressing to intimidate, but Claire wasn't sure she owned anything that could top gold full plate armor.

"Morgana! My name is Claire Maria Nuñez. I have been in possession of the Skathe-Hrün. I have explored its secrets, drawn on its power, and now challenge you for ownership of it!"

Morgana raised delicate eyebrows high, lips twitching into a smirk. "You _challenge_ me?" She raised her right hand and crooked a finger; Claire tightened her grip on the Shadowstaff, but it still jerked forward, yanking her a foot or so toward the end of her bed before stopping. "The Skathe-Hrün is of my flesh and blood - it carries my magic, my power. I could wrench it back from you with a thought. I only allow you to carry it so that you may open yourself to my influence."

"But even if I do, even if you overwhelm me and control me, you can't do it forever. And every time I throw you out, I'll be a little more prepared for the next time."

"So? I am of the Unseelie Court, child. Your power is _nothing_ compared to mine."

Claire shrugged. "We kicked you out once. You're not unbeatable."

Morgana narrowed her eyes. "You can't challenge me if you have nothing to offer."

"I want the Shadowstaff. You want a pair of hands that isn't so...noticeable. You win this challenge, you get me. No resistance. No exorcisms. I win, I get the Shadowstaff."

Morgana's lips quirked again. "You bring a challenge to me, you dictate the terms. If I accept, _I_ will dictate the means of the challenge."

"There must be a way I can win," Claire said.

"Of course," Morgana said. "If so - I agree to your challenge."

"So...what _is_ the challenge?"

Morgana chuckled. "It is an old tool, one of divination." She twisted her prosthetic hand, and something rectangular appeared in her grip. "In a realm of passion, of imagination, it can be so much more." She flicked the hand, and Claire saw Morgana was holding cards, as a dozen or so leapt from one hand to the other. Claire felt an odd sense of foreboding - even when she hadn't believed in magic, she'd known there were things you didn't toy with. _Playing_ cards were alright, but _other_ cards…

"Are you familiar with the tarot, child?"

Claire nodded, once, and Morgana's smirk twitched.

"These cards spell out our destiny, child. Possibilities. Sorcery is the transmutation of possibility, and so we will use those future, those destinies, as the fuel for our sorcery." The two stacks of cards drifted from Morgana's hands to hover in front of her. "The tarot contains two sets of cards - the Major Arcana, powerful archetypes that are bold, flexible; and the Minor Arcana, a multitude of powers that sketch out every possibility. You may choose which you will face me with."

"Major Arcana." There was no point in agonizing over it; Claire had no idea what strengths or weaknesses either deck might offer, so worrying would just waste energy.

"Are you certain?"

"Positive." Claire wouldn't let Morgana psych her out, not when she was trying to appear strong, confident, _capable_ of claiming this power.

The faerie sorceress shrugged and snapped her fingers; the leftmost deck soared to Claire. She plucked the cards from mid-air, and looked expectantly to Morgana.

"Shuffle your deck and draw five cards. We will take turns drawing a card and playing those from our hands - eventually one of us will find themselves unable to continue. As you have chosen your deck, I shall go first."

Claire shuffled the cards and drew, cautiously. The first card showed a bulging arm. 'Strength', it read. The next, 'The High Priestess'. 'Magician'. 'Devil'. 'Moon'. She frowned at them, trying to remember what the meaning of the cards were supposed to be, and figure out how she was supposed to use them.

"Well, this is lucky," Morgana said, holding one card delicately in one hand. Her deck floated next to her at waist level. She flipped the one card around. "The Ace of Pentacles - Wealth. It will allow me to draw two cards, instead of one, on each of my turns." The card flashed and held, in place, in front of Morgana, a single gold coin spinning there. "And the King of Wands - it calls forth a trio of warriors to protect me - the King, Page, and Knight of Wands." A figure leaning on a long staff, wearing a gold crown, appeared next to her, and flanking him a figure with a bladed cane, and another holding a bundle of staves. "Go ahead, child."

Claire drew a card from the stack next to her - 'The Chariot'. It meant something like victory, didn't it? She looked up and met Morgana's eyes, and grit her teeth. "I play the Chariot. It will sweep away your Page and Knight." A chariot drawn by black horses charged at Morgana, a warrior with a lance piercing the flanking spirits near Morgana. "And then...the Moon. It refers to enemies - it will grant me a new protector on each of my turns." A black-clad figure materialized next to Claire, a short blade held in one hand. Claire felt a spark of confidence; she could remember enough, she thought, to bullshit her way through this.

"Delightful." Morgana drew two cards, smirked. "I play the Five of Pentacles - Poverty. You must discard two cards."

Claire scanned her four cards, desperate. Strength, she didn't want to discard that, or the Magician...but there was something she remembered about the Devil that she thought she might want to keep. She grit her teeth and discarded the High Priestess and Magician.

"I play the Ten of Cups - it generates a pair of warriors to protect me, and the Six of Pentacles, which allows me to draw two more cards." She looked up at Claire and grinned, a sharp-toothed smile. "Two of my warriors will attack you."

"I have my defender!" Claire retorted, and the ninja interposed themself between Morgana and her. A faceless humanoid swung clawed fingers at the defender, who stabbed at it; both died in a spray of blood. The second closed, and Claire raised her arm defensively as the claws sliced into her flesh. Her arm shivered with sudden chill, and she tucked it defensively against her stomach. There was no blood, but she could feel the sting, knowing she couldn't take many more hits like that, especially if Morgana could produce anything more powerful.

"Well, go ahead," Morgana said.

Claire reached out to her deck, her injured arm shaking from the lingering pain of the bloodless wound. She'd flipped her cards, so she had to turn it to read the name - 'Wheel of Fortune'. That could bring good luck, right?

But it wouldn't do much good if she died before she could play it.

There was a flicker next to her; she jolted, feeling relief when she saw another of the ninja standing next to her. One defender per turn…

Her gaze darted to 'Strength'. "I play Strength, which makes my defender more powerful - enough to withstand the attacks of your warriors!" She looked up at Morgana, baring her teeth. "And then my warrior attacks you!"

"He attacks my defender, recall?" Morgana drawled, seemingly unconcerned as her defender was ripped to pieces with a cross strike.

"But you have no more defense, and my warrior will do more than a scratch next turn."

Morgana shrugged, drawing her two cards. "The King of Cups balances our forces - I gain a warrior to my field, weak, but enough to protect me." A hooded figure holding a cup in their hands appeared before her. "And I play the Knight of Swords - a warrior strong enough to vanquish your defender-" An armor-clad warrior swung a massive blade, bisecting Claire's defender, and then the weaker warrior charged in, slamming their heavy cup into Claire's stomach, driving the wind from her lungs. "And look! The Eight of Swords - Imprisonment. It will prevent your defenders from attacking me, or my own defenders. And I believe that makes it your turn."

Shaking, Claire drew another card. 'Judgment'. She scanned the cards she held, trying to find some meaning, something that could help her. The Devil was a terrible card - she wasn't certain why she'd held onto it, when she could have had something more positive - the Magician, the High Priestess, something that might have had some powerful magic-

Claire found herself staring at the Wheel of Fortune. When she'd drawn it, it'd been upside-down. There was something in card-reading about reversed cards, wasn't there? But how could she know if that was allowed?

…

And then a ninja appeared next to Claire. The card hadn't said what form her defender would take; it'd taken that shape because when Claire thought about a badass protector, she imagined an all but invisible warrior. The cards didn't say _anything_. This wasn't a battle of rules, it was a battle of imagination and wits.

Judgment could be - _rebirth_. "I play Judgment - allowing me to return the High Priestess and Magician from my discard as defenders."

"You cannot win this game through defense alone," Morgana retorted.

"No, but…" The Devil was about chains, bindings, but reversed, it could be- "The Devil, Reversed, breaks the bonds you made with the Eight of Swords." The swords shattered, and Claire saw a widening of Morgana's eyes. Claire smirked, because her last card would be-

"I play the Six of Wands, Reversed!" Morgana snapped, and six rods appeared around her, poised upward, as if ready to be thrown like javelins. "Which will destroy your defenders, and all the powers you have active on the field."

There were no rules about this, Claire realized. It was a game of imagination, and quick wits. "My Magician allows me to respond with my own cards! First, the Wheel of Fortune, which allows me to draw cards until I hold the same number as you do - four." 

'Tower', 'Hermit', 'Emperor', 'Death'.

"Still, your creations are washed away!" Morgana retorted. The spears shattered her cards.

"The Hermit, Reversed, means treason," Claire replied. "Your Ace of Pentacles, and your defenders, become mine." The Knight of Swords and cup-holder turned, facing Morgana.

"The Knight of Pentacles, Reversed!" Morgana shouted. "Your defenders cannot attack me, this turn."

"The Tower! Your magic _fails_!"

"The Five of Cups; your creatures are _destroyed_!"

"The Emperor - my creatures cannot be destroyed until the end of my turn."

"The Three of Wands - I gain as many defenders as you have attackers." Morgana's eyes were flashing, blue and green, as she bared her teeth at Claire, two flickering hooded figures standing between her and Claire.

They had one card each, Morgana some unknown card, and Claire...Death. Of course 'Death' didn't mean death; she _could_ use it to destroy Morgana's defenders, but there was a glint in Morgana's eye. She expected that, Claire guessed.

It was a game of imagination, of wits.

Death wasn't just death; it was transformation, transition.

Claire scanned her defenders, racking her brain for something she could transform them into that could defeat Morgana. Something her two defenders could do-

…

But Claire didn't just have her defenders.

She had her own power, her own magic. She couldn't use it to attack Morgana…

Not as she was _now_.

"I play Death-"

"The Ten of Swords, Reversed, ensures my defenders will survive your spell!" Morgana's grin was wide, feral, triumphant, and Claire couldn't help the smile she gave in response.

"I play Death," Claire repeated, "to transition myself from my place as a player of the game, to the field as an attacker."

"What?"

Claire stepped forward, and nodded to each of her defenders. The cupholder threw themself against one of Morgana's, the two of them destroying each other, and the knight effortlessly dispatched the second. And then Claire was standing with nothing between her and Morgana. She raised a hand, calling forth every hurt, every loss Morgana and her Gumm Gumms had caused to the world, the deaths she'd channelled to bring herself back to the world, into one gleaming point. She met the sorceress' gaze and bared her teeth.

"Do you _yield_?"

Morgana looked at her empty hand, her empty field, and nodded.

"Then you yield the Skathe-Hrün to me. And when we meet again-"

Morgana tossed her head back, laughing. "I'm sorry - do you expect to leave this place unmolested? I promised you the staff, but I never promised I wouldn't take your mind from you, anyway. If you are mine, and the Skathe-Hrün is mine, it is still yours, in a way."

" _Wrong_!" Claire snapped her hand out, and the Shadowstaff flew into her grasp. "You said if I won, the Shadowstaff was _mine_. And there's no way you can win now. So by the terms of our wager, I _claim it for my own_."

Morgana snapped her hand out, but in the moment Claire had spoken, she could feel a change in the Shadowstaff. The crystals shifted, she thought, to something like a deep violet hue. It felt lighter, somehow, and-

There was something else.

Claire could sense Rico, if she focused. She'd bound him to her, when she'd named him, done things they didn't fully understand yet. But she could close her eyes and _feel_ that connection. 

There was another thread in her chest, now, and holding it in her hands, she knew it ended with the Shadowstaff (if it was hers, it was no longer the Skathe-Hrün).

Morgana watched Claire with narrow eyes, one hand still stretched out to her. When nothing happened, when the Shadowstaff failed to jump to her hands, Morgana let it drop. Her expression didn't shift, however. "Even with the Skathe-"

" _Shadowstaff_."

Morgana's green eye (her original eye) twitched. "Even with the power of the Shadowstaff, you do not have a tenth, a _hundredth_ of my power."

But Claire had _won_ this battle, despite the discrepancy in power. And seeing Morgana's hesitance, Claire understood it wasn't a fluke. "If we were Light Mages, or Blood Mages...power might matter. But like you said, Shadow Magic is about passion, imagination. I can out-think you. I can _care_ more than you. So even if you're a hundred, a thousand times more powerful than you, _I can beat you_."

\---

Eli hiked his backpack up as he stepped up to the door of the Domzalski home. He checked his phone, but since it was already fifteen minutes after he'd asked Steve to meet him, he decided Steve was't showing up. He didn't know _what_ had gotten into the other boy, who had already flaked out of helping Eli review the information they'd forced out of the Nightmare King (Pitch Black, though that was obviously a pseudonym) _and_ managed to be occupied throughout the _entire_ welcome back party for Jim (he'd spent twenty minutes talking to _Bular_ , scourge of a thousand years of human and troll history, rather than talk to Eli).

But there was enough shit going on Eli didn't have time to worry about whether football players wanted to talk to him. Today's shit, for example, was consulting with Blinky about Pitch Black's vague mentions of the Golden Age, and other tidbits he'd dropped about the Lord of Flowers.

Eli rang the doorbell, bouncing anxiously on his toes while he waited for someone to answer - probably Nana Domzalski, given the good chances Toby was keeping a tight watch on Jim across the street.

So it wasn't a surprise when Nana opened the door, cooing, "Elijah!" The part that _was_ a surprise was when she added, "More visitors!"

" _More_ visitors?" Eli asked. "I was here to see ah - Mr. Blinky?"

"Oh, good, he could use something to distract him," Nana replied. She tugged Eli into the house, closing the door behind him. "He's been glaring daggers at Aaarrrgghh's brother all morning."

"Aaarrrgghh's...brother."

Before Eli could figure that out, or Nana could explain, they stepped into sight of the kitchen, where Aaarrrgghh was standing just out of arm's reach of Bular the Vicious. Their voices were low, deep, as they conversed.

Blinky was, as predicted, standing against the wall, arms twisted into a complicated knot as he glowered at Bular.

Which, yeah, Eli got. Between the literal centuries Bular had been the bane of troll and Trollhunter alike, and Dictatious' betrayal, Blinky was entitled to be suspicious. But seeing Aaarrrgghh standing loose, easy, looking down at Bular, not quite smiling but...not anxious, it was clear Aaarrrgghh had made his decision.

"Hey, Blinky?"

The smaller of the three trolls twisted around with a yelp. Trying to take in Eli and keep his eyes on Bular at the same time, he nearly unbalanced, catching his hand on the wall.

"Elijah! To what do we owe the pleasure?"

"I got a whole stack of notes I've got to quiz you about," Eli replied. 

"Oh, ah…" Blinky looked away from Bular to focus fully on Eli. "Will Steven be joining us?"

"Apparently not. Come on, we can take the basement."

The declaration silenced Blinky, who followed Eli quietly down into the basement, quiet until he dumped out the notes from his extensive discussion with Pitch Black.

"Elijah, is everything alright?"

"It's fine. Or it's not, but - look, you're dealing with the Gunmar problem, and I'm dealing with this big-picture thing. So long story short, I got some info out of this ancient guy - the Nightmare King - about the Lord of Flowers, and some other stuff that I wanted to pick your brain about."

"Elijah, I don't really _know_ a lot about this ancient history - there were probably some references in my brother's collection, but we know how _that_ ended."

Eli sighed as Blinky glanced back up at the door to upstairs; clearly, the universe was conspiring against him making any progress on this. "Uh, do you wanna talk? About, uh-"

"I don't know what to _do_ , Elijah!" Blinky threw up his top two arms and began pacing in a tight circle. "I can't bring myself to trust him, but every objection I can bring about letting _Bular_ get close to us could be made for _Aaarrrgghh_!"

"Yeah, but," Eli dropped into the lone chair next to the desk he'd hoped to use to examine his notes, "it's not the same situation as Aaarrrgghh."

"Exactly!"

"But it's not the same one as Dictatious, either."

Blinky paused mid-step, turned, his hands falling slowly to his sides. His eyes narrowed, not in suspicion or anger, but curiosity. "What?"

"Bular isn't Aaarrrgghh, but he isn't your brother, either. Sure, he might be playing some long con, but he's been working with Mr. Strickler for months, and - Aaarrrgghh seems to think he's changed."

"I thought Dictatious was on our side, too," Blinky said quietly, and Eli felt a jolt in his stomach, sad, sympathetic.

"Are you mad you didn't see it?" Eli asked. "Or are you mad Aaarrrgghh got his brother back when you didn't?"

Blinky sank down next to the desk, mouth twisting downward. "When my brother - I was right to trust Aaarrrgghh, I thought my gut - I thought I could _tell_." He ran a hand over his face, sighing. "If I couldn't tell if my own _brother_ was lying to me, how can I trust my feelings about a troll I know only through rumor?"

Eli shrugged. "I don't know what to tell you. You trusted your gut with Aaarrrgghh, and it all worked out. I trusted Steve, and that was fine. You trusted Dictatious, and that...didn't go great. But maybe...this is Aaarrrgghh's call."

"You're saying - I should trust Aaarrrgghh's judgment."

"I'm saying maybe Aaarrrgghh should figure out if it's a bad idea...on his own."

"Hmph. Let him get hurt?"

"Look, if you _know_ something's wrong, tell him. But you don't know any better than he does, do you?" Blinky shook his head. "So I figure he's got as much of an idea as you do."

"You're very insightful, Elijah," Blinky said. 

Elijah shrugged, unable to stop a blush from rising along his cheeks. "Not as much as I'd like." If he were better, he'd have some idea why Steve was avoiding him.

"Enough for these dark times," Blinky replied. "Clever, insightful, and lucky. It is fortuitous, I must think, that you found us."

Lucky, Elijah mused, as he biked home later that afternoon. That was one word for it, for one of the mysteries he hadn't solved yet. How he'd dodged spells, hexes, passed through traps, thrown off the glamour of a faerie queen. Indeed, it could speak of _extraordinary_ luck, heroic, _mythical_ luck.

Or it could be something else _entirely_ , though what...he couldn't yet say.

\---

Jamie flicked on his flashlight, sending a wide arc of bright, white light into the cave. It didn't look particularly magical, although there were seams of something reflective in the walls - he knew Heartstones supposedly encouraged crystalline growths, so it could be a good sign.

But as Jamie wandered deeper into the cavern, finding only mushrooms, beetles, and a rock that looked enough like a bear he had a brief panic attack, he was beginning to think this was another bust.

Until he found (fell down) an unexpected downward slope, like sixty feet of loose rocks that ended next to a wide, underground lake. He swung his light across the dark water, finding something...odd about the surface. Considering for a moment, he decided he was too far east to find grues, and doused the light. In the few minutes it took his eyes to adapt to the darkness, Jamie was quiet, not quite straining his ears, but open to his surroundings. There was the occasional drip of water (was that what made the lake?), the fall of pebbles, likely the result of his fall, and his own breathing.

And then…

Jamie saw what was odd about the lake. Something in the water was glowing, a faint, pale light. Not white like his flashlight, not like sunlight, and not like any phosphorescence he'd ever seen. It was...like light cast through a prism (the water?), colors filtering through the surface to make something like an aurora.

And it was...not warm, exactly. But Jamie felt - he should have felt a little bruised, at least, from his unexpected descent. He should have felt tired, from his hour-long hike and further exploration. He sat down at the edge of the lake, heartbeat skipping a beat, and getting faster as the implications came to him.

Because he'd read about them, about Heartstones. They had birthed an entire race of people. Life flourished in their presence. The light, it seemed, could soothe little hurts, invigorate people. But they were also supposed to be brilliant, lighting whole caverns. This one was…

Worn. Dying. It couldn't sustain one human teenager, much less the whole settlements of trolls that were supposed to settle around a Heartstone. 

He knew about that, vaguely, a story about a missing god, a dying race. To see it in the flesh, though, was-

Sad. Like reading about endangered animals, dying cultures.

...The death of a world.

Jamie flicked his flashlight back on, pushed himself to his feet, and began walking the perimeter of the lake, looking for, what, he didn't know. Just - _something_ to make the trip worthwhile. Something more than the dying heart of what might have been a city once.

After thirty minutes, Jamie realized he'd been looking for stuff abandoned, forgotten, the sort of stuff an archeologist would want to find, when he really wanted something _hidden_. Ninety minutes after that, Jamie realized that trolls wouldn't hide things the way anyone else would - they would use rock formations and walls to hide things. He was about to give up, unwilling to try to dig through every rock surface in the cavern, when he found it.

The rock was perfectly ovoid, waist-high, and covered in little random mineral deposits. When Jamie rapped his fist against it, he could hear the hint of hollowness in it.

There were basically two ways to deal with this, and Jamie picked the easier one, wailing on the rock with his crowbar until the rock cracked to reveal its prize - a thick book with pages made of some thin plastic, filled with flowery scrawls he was almost certain was writing.

Two days later, the book and printouts from the internet scattered across every surface in his room, Jamie was certain this would be a billion times more exciting if he had _any way_ of figuring out what it said.

He didn't know then how much that book would end up changing his life.


	6. Heart to Heart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nomura learns what it means to be Morgana's friend. Steve talks Draal into a very human way of dealing with their problems.

Zelda woke with an itch under her skin, a chill along her spine that meant one thing: _she was being watched_.

She flicked her eyes open, pulling a knife out from under her pillow, and-

Froze.

Morgana was sitting on the foot of Zelda's bed, lips pursed, eyes fixed on where Zelda's head had rested only a moment before. Her eyes were-

Soft. There was none of the tension around her eyes that Zelda would have said defined Morgana's expression. She looked...wistful.

"My Lady?" Zelda asked hesitantly.

Morgana's lips quirked into a smile. "Oh, don't bother with all that. We're _friends_ , aren't we, Zelly?"

Zelda wasn't certain if it was Morgana's high, lilting tone, almost girlish, or the casual use of the nickname, that surprised her more. The faerie had forgone her usual armor for a short forest green tunic, looking more like a wild fae than the warrior queen she'd been for centuries.

But as Morgana tilted her head, Zelda remembered she didn't have time to _think_. She gave Morgana a toothy grin. "Of course we're friends."

"Good," Morgana said, grabbing at Zelda's arm, pulling her off her bed. Zelda stumbled, but she was a spy, and a _good one_ , so she caught herself quickly, though still stumbled after the sorceress to give the impression of a changeling a little overwhelmed by Morgana's behavior.

Stricklander _had_ suggested Morgana was lonely, looking not for another subject but a _friend_ , but Zelda hadn't really expected Morgana to treat a friend quite like a human woman would do (had imagined Morgana demanding an audience to her whims, someone to agree with her and make fun of humanity with her).

"Where exactly are we going?" she asked, as Morgana, slowed to merely a brisk pace, pulled her toward the edge of Trollmarket.

"I had a wonderful idea," Morgana replied, "and it requires a little field trip. You don't mind, do you?"

"Well, I will have to clear my social calendar," Zelda said with a shrug, "you know how busy us outcast changeling spies are."

Morgana paused, half-turning, eyes narrowing, and Zelda felt a brief moment of panic, before-

Morgana laughed. Not a vicious, mocking laugh, but the high, delighted laughter of a woman who'd been surprised by a joke. " _Busy_!" Morgana repeated. "Oh, Zelly. Come on, I want to catch the Gyre before Gunmar sends out his tiresome envoys."

Zelda filed that intriguing tidbit away; the Trollhunters were working under the assumption Morgana was the head of a unified force, so any sign of dissension in the ranks was good to note. 

Among them was apparently that Morgana cared much less about the size of her forces than Gunmar did. If Zelda had to guess, it would be that Morgana wasn't keen on having too many armed trolls wandering around when she was capable of toppling human society on her own. It was a puzzling attitude, though, for someone who legend said would put out the sun and bring forth night eternal.

Zelda didn't bother trying to pinpoint their destination when Morgana engaged the Gyre; she wasn't familiar enough with the system that she could have identified any obscure Gyre station, and she doubted Morgana was taking her somewhere common.

But as the Gyre spun to a stop after a harrowing ten minutes of travel, Zelda felt a strange sensation - not quite as if she'd been there before, but as if she'd heard enough about the place to recognize it by sight alone. It was no vaulted hall, no Trollmarket or palace, but a dank cavern, dark and smelling of rot. Bones were piled against the nearest walls, from the complete skeletons of rodents to ribs and legs of massive creatures. It was clearly the home of a ravenous beast, one possessed by an insatiable hunger for flesh.

Morgana turned to Zelda, her one blue eye gleaming like a troll's in the darkness. "Isn't this exciting?" Morgana said.

"Where...are we?"

"You don't know?" Morgana asked, voice dropping a little in disappointment. "You were a fan of the old tales, so I thought - but your interest is in Peer Gynt, is it not? Still, this place should be hallowed to the Gumm Gumms...and those who follow them."

"Hallowed?" Zelda took a step forward, freezing when she saw a massive stone shape, larger than any troll she'd ever seen. Surrounded by bodies, she thought first it must be a corpse, but a troll that size-

" _Grinhilda_?"

"Yes," Morgana hissed. "The last resting place of Grinhilda, the Gumm Gumm Queen. Mother of Gunmar...and two others. Fin, who will _not_ be joining our crusade to bring about the downfall of humanity. And-"

"Grendel," Zelda finished. "Gunmar's first general."

"Four he had once," Morgana, "now only one."

"He is trying to rebuild your army, Morgana-"

"Not good enough. Not fast enough. Trolls who follow him from fear, or in the certainty he will win. None who desire the _destruction_ that is my right." Morgana's expression lost the excitement, the innocent joy, that it had held just minutes ago, becoming something wild, feral, teeth bared.

"What are we doing here?"

"I think it is time," Morgana said idly, "for Grendel to walk the Earth once again."

Zelda was not composed enough to hold back her first thoughts. "That's _impossible_ ; there is no magic that can revive the dead-"

" _Do you think I don't know that_?" Morgana howled; around them, the cavern shook, whether from the echoes of her voice, or the magic her pain wrenched from her body. Her emerald eye blazed as bright as her sapphire one, as she grabbed Zelda's arm and tugged her forward. "There _are_ ways to restore life to a body even long-dead, but what will inhabit the body will be something dark and unnatural. Grendel, however, was _already_ dark and unnatural, so I determined the loss of the troll he once was will have little effect on his behavior."

With a moment to think, Zelda had time for second and third thoughts.

Her second thoughts were particularly worrying - resurrection was most popularly the work of Blood Magic, which required a sacrifice. In the absence of any other likely sacrifice…

"... _How_ exactly are you planning to bring Grendel back?"

Morgana paused again, turned, and burst into laughter. "Oh, goodness, did you think I was going to _sacrifice_ you? Air and darkness, _no_! Oh, lord, I've spent the last week collecting virgin blood for this _exact_ purpose! Now, come on, let's bring a little evil into the world!"

\---

"Hey so - Steve." Lawrence (not 'Coach' at home) settled down on the far end of the couch, eyes steady, scanning Steve for - he didn't know, injuries or whatever. "How's things?"

Steve opened his mouth for a retort before he let it close, considering. He'd yelled at his dad (the memory of his dad, nightmare of his dad, _whatever_ ) Lawrence was good for him, and he _was_ \- Lawrence _cared_ , or tried to care, looked out for Steve when he could. Which meant Steve maybe owed him...something.

"Alright," Steve mumbled, realizing, as he answered, that whatever his evolving feelings about Lawrence were, he couldn't answer the question _honestly_.

"I haven't seen Eli around the last week or so," Lawrence tried, and Steve felt a jolt of aggravation, frustration, panic, and shoved himself off the couch.

"I've gotta go," he grumbled. "Plans, you know?"

"Steve?" Lawrence grunted, halfway to his feet when Steve reached the edge of the living room. "You-"

"Yeah, I know, curfew's at 9, keep my phone on. I'll see you at school, Coach."

Steve slammed the front door after him before Lawrence could reply, but paused to give himself a moment to center himself - or at least figure out where he was going. As he'd begged off Eli's current research expedition, the Pepperjack house was out. He doubted he could make up an excuse to drop in on the Lakes, and was _not_ about to go to the _Domzalski_ house. That left, what, the Nuñez home, where Steve frankly was pretty sure he wasn't welcome, and…

With a chirping call, a dark winged shape - with more limbs than a bat and despite the winter dark dulling the color, still obviously too colorful to be a mere winged mammal - swooped from the tree nearest the front door to land on Steve's shoulder.

"Do _you_ have any bright ideas?" Steve demanded of the pseudodragon. He'd yet to figure out why the creature was frequenting _his_ house instead of Eli's, but the creature, more like a lazy housecat than Squab, who was an argumentative houseguest, was good company when they deigned to show themself (determining the gender of a dragon, real or pseudo, was _complicated_ , so Steve had settled on a neutral word). They were, however, much less communicative.

The pseudodragon yawned and wrapped their tail (which ended with a vicious sting) around Steve's neck.

"...Yeah, thanks," Steve muttered. "Come on." He mounted his bike and pushed off into the street. He'd been driving for ten minutes before he had a direction, and…

It wasn't the worst idea. Mr. Strickler was a good guy, and his house had become a gathering place for the troll parts of the Trollhunters - Bular had been living in his basement for ages, and Kellor had apparently commandeered his spare room for Draal and, as needed, her. And then there were the other rebel changelings - Frederick, Nomura, and two or three others Steve had seen in passing. As a result, no one would comment on Steve showing up, and the chance of anyone caring enough to ask him about Eli was low.

He'd forgotten, however, about Mr. Strickler himself, who raised an inquisitive eyebrow when he opened the door to find Steve there.

"Mr. Palchuk. Shall we be expecting Mr. Pepperjack as well?"

"We're not - I don't have to go everywhere with him!"

Mr. Strickler shrugged. "I didn't say as much; I was merely inquiring, as you two _have_ attended Trollhunter-related business together."

"Yeah, well, this isn't like, Trollhunting business. I just-" Steve growled, frustrated that the words wouldn't come to him.

"Trouble at home?" When Steve didn't reply, Mr. Strickler stepped back from the door. "If you need somewhere to cool down, or someone to talk to-"

"Thanks, but no," Steve muttered as he followed Mr. Strickler into his home. He paused when he saw Draal in the kitchen, gnawing on an empty pizza box.

The troll gave him no apparent notice, wandering toward Mr. Strickler's basement with his snack. His eyes were dull, though, as they'd been every time Steve had seen him since the battle with Gunmar, and his movements sluggish. Steve started when he felt a hand on his shoulder, twisting around to see Mr. Strickler, mouth a tight line, not quite a frown, but…

Well, it wasn't happy.

"I was expecting to work in my office upstairs; please make yourself comfortable. You...don't need to stay the night, do you?"

"My curfew's at nine," Steve replied. "I'm not - everything's fine."

Mr. Strickler nodded, but his expression didn't shift. Which - he was sharing his house with a depressed troll, so his patience for emotional withdrawal probably wasn't high.

He did, however, leave Steve alone, at which point the pseudodragon leapt for the kitchen, forcing Steve to chase them down and find something small venomous flying lizards would eat. After, they settled on Mr. Strickler's couch, the pseudodragon curling up on Steve's shoulders and falling asleep almost immediately. Steve enjoyed the quiet for five minutes before his brain started on the thoughts that he'd fled Lawrence to avoid.

And because he was trying to _avoid_ thinking, Steve was pushing his way into the basement without really considering what he was doing. When he stepped into the darkness, though, he froze, heart racing. The last time he'd come down here, he'd seen-

The pseudodragon nipped at Steve's ear, startling him out of his panic; he flipped the light switch with more force than was necessary, bringing to life a few light bulbs, enough to see. Draal looked up from the wall he'd been sitting against, eyes narrow in annoyance.

"What are you doing here?"

Steve shrugged. "That nightmare dude put a real whammy on you and me. I thought I'd check up. You okay?"

"Fine," Draal grunted.

"Yeah right." Steve dropped down the stairs in a few heavy steps and leaned against the wall next to the seated troll.

"Then why did you ask?"

"Fuck, I don't know. It's how you do these things - ask how you're doing, then bully you into sharing your feelings all over the place."

"Why would I want to 'share' my feelings?" Draal demanded. " _You_ don't need to know them."

"It's supposed to make you feel better."

Draal snorted. "I don't see how just _saying_ how I feel is supposed to make me feel better." He glanced at Steve, a brief glance at first, but then gave him another, startled one. "Where's Elijah?"

" _God_ , will everyone stop _asking_ me that?" Steve snapped, slamming a palm against the wall. "They keep acting like we're - I don't _need_ him around! It's not like he's my - like we're-"

Steve paused, breath coming in short pants at his outburst. Draal, though, was squinting at him, confused.

"If this is sharing feelings, it's a tremendously confusing process."

"I'm not-" Steve swiped at his face, grateful there were no tears. "I don't want to talk about it."

"Well I don't either."

There was a moment of tense, combative silence, before Steve slumped back against the wall, and heard a sigh from Draal.

"Everyone seems to think they know how I should feel," Draal said. "But _none_ of them have broken free of the Decimaar Blade. None of them have-"

"Yeah," Steve agreed; Draal fell quiet, possibly grateful he hadn't had to say _what_ he'd done. After a moment, Steve asked, "How _do_ you feel? Because the nightmare you had about it freaked you the fuck out."

After a few moments of silence, Steve decided Draal wasn't going to answer, and then-

"Weak."

"What?"

"Stricklander has suggested I should be grateful I broke free of the Decimaar Blade. Kellor has assured me I was not to blame for what happened. But if I possessed the strength to free myself…" He fell silent again, but Steve could see what he meant.

"Yeah, that's - fucked up, I guess."

Draal growled. "You asked how I felt."

"Yeah, I know - I - I didn't mean how you _feel_ is fucked up, just - the whole thing." Steve let that sink in a moment. "Do you even know how you broke out of the mind control sword thing?"

"Of course not."

"Then...how do you know that you could have done it earlier?"

Draal shifted around to glare at Steve. "What do you mean?"

"I mean, you're sitting here feeling like crap because you think you could have broken out sooner if you were stronger. For all you know, someone else broke you out, or it was the phase of the moon, or some other stupid supernatural crap."

"Hmph," Draal grunted. He didn't argue with Steve, but didn't look _happy_ , either. "What about you?"

"What?"

"I shared my feelings. It is only appropriate you share yours." They were apparently done with Draal's problems.

"Uh…" Steve sank down against the wall until he was seated on the floor. "Can I...not? It's, like, human stuff."

"Blinkous believes it is important for us to understand 'human stuff'," Draal replied. Steve glared at him, because he couldn't figure out if Draal was joking; he'd never heard Draal do so, and it seemed a bad time for him to start.

His expression didn't shift, though, and the intensity of his gaze left Steve feeling exposed, the sort of thing teachers had been trying to do to make him admit to things.

Steve shifted anxiously in place. "Look, you can't tell _anyone_ about this."

"You have an inflated estimate of how much I discuss your life with other people," Draal replied, but mild. "I won't tell anyone."

Steve folded his arms. "Everyone keeps asking me about Eli, like we're - joined at the hip. And my dad-"

"I thought your father...was gone."

"I had a _dream_ about him," Steve growled, "Alright? But everyone _thinks_ it, okay? That Eli and I - you know."

"I _don't_ know."

Steve glowered at Draal; this would be easier if Draal were human, because he'd _get_ this without Steve having to _actually_ say it. "That we're _involved_." He saw the confusion in Draal's eyes, and _knew_ the troll was going to point out that as friends, they _were_ involved. " _Romantically_. Like Blinky and Aaarrrgghh."

"Ah." Draal frowned, thoughtful. "And you don't want to be?"

"No!" Steve snapped, paused, realized how that sounded, and added, "Yes! I mean - I'm not a - _sissy_."

Draal raised one eyebrow, and Steve sighed.

"Sissy's like - a guy who acts like a girl."

"And being romantically involved with Eli would make you a sissy?"

" _Yes_."

"Why?"

"Because guys are supposed to date girls; that's how it's _done_."

"Hmp." Draal drummed his fingers against the floor. "Toby went on a date with Eli."

"Yeah, but he's - a geek," Steve protested. "No one cares if he's - weird. Different."

"But he's still a...sissy. And Eli-"

"It's _different_!" Steve snapped. "Everyone knows Eli's - he's not - _manly_ , you know? No one _expects him_ to be-"

He broke off with a growl, ducking his head away from Draal, because he couldn't _explain_ it to someone who wasn't human, who didn't how a guy, a _human_ guy, was supposed to act.

"You and I...are not so different," Draal said. Expecting more confusion, more questions, Steve jerked his head up, finding Draal's expression somber.

"What do you mean? You're a _badass_ ; no one would call _you_ a sissy."

"My father...expected something different from me," Draal said haltingly. "He didn't believe - I was enough like a - man to call myself one. I joined the Eclipse Knights to _prove_ myself. But I found, working aside other trolls, male _and_ female, that - I did not have to prove my manhood to _anyone_...not even myself. It was enough to _know_ what I was. _No one_ \- not your father, not any code, not _your body_ \- can say you are something other than what you are."

"Your...body?" Steve asked. He looked up at Draal, before he remembered the weird, tense conversations he'd been forced to have in middle school, when the teachers had started calling Detective Scott's kid a new name. "Do you mean you're-" He paused, feeling a wash of - _shame_ , certainly, for things he'd said about Darci early on, confusion, how that sort of thing worked for trolls, and…

A moment of clarity. That whatever sex a troll _said_ they were had exactly _zero_ effect on Steve's life, because _what the fuck_ did it matter to him? And then-

It'd be a shitty thing to be nicer to _trolls_ about that sort of thing than _humans_ (and the vague sort of thought that another human's gender wasn't much more important, except for the purposes of...dating and shit).

Steve grit his teeth, because the long silence meant the ball was in his court to say something not hideously offensive. "So what's...being manly about for you?"

"Were you even listening?" Draal demanded. "What I think doesn't matter. If you're a man, you're a _man_. You can't be a _sissy_."

"But-"

"No! I don't want to listen to talk about sissies and your dating! No one will make you date Eli! Anyone who thinks you are less because they think you are dating Eli is _wrong_!" Huffing, Draal slammed a fist into the base of the wall, and Steve jumped away from him. Draal turned, slightly, and, seeing Steve, unclenched his hand and settled it back in his lap. "So if you _have_ a problem, it is whether you wish to be dating Eli."

Steve fell back, because of _course_ that was the problem. He could _ignore_ assholes that wanted to imply he was gay because Eli was his friend.

...But not if he actually _wanted_ to date Eli.

"Yeah. I guess so." Steve uncrossed his arms. "Thanks. Uh. Good talk."

"...Yes," Draal agreed. "Good talk."

And it didn't _resolve_ anything. Steve didn't have _anything_ figured out, and he doubted Draal did, either.

But maybe Steve felt a little less like he had to worry what _other_ people were thinking, because what _he_ was thinking was enough of a problem.

\---

Jamie's mom was at Peewee hockey with Sophie, and Jamie working his way through his chemistry homework, when the doorbell rang. Jamie flicked the book closed and headed downstairs. When he peered through the peephole, it was to see three people in army fatigues standing at ease on the front steps. Jamie pulled the door open. The guy at the front was tall, square, and looking down at Jamie with a tight smile. His eyes were the color of dried blood.

"Um, hi?"

"Good morning!" the man said. "My name is Sergeant Clyde Palchuk."

"Okay." Jamie kept the door mostly closed. "Do you need to talk to my mom, or-"

"Maybe not," Sergeant Palchuk replied. "Were you in the area of the Delaware Water Gap last weekend?"

"Uhh...why?"

"Recent surveys of the area have revealed dangerous levels of radiation in some of the cave systems. If you were, say, spelunking down there, you might need immediate medical attention. Mind if we come in?"

Sergeant Palchuck pushed past Jamie into the house before he could respond. "Hey! You can't just-"

"National security," one of the soldiers, a stocky woman holding a weird device (a Geiger counter? It _could_ have been) muttered as she walked past him.

The other, a reedy-looking man, bent down as he passed Jamie, and whispered, "You do _not_ want to push too hard on this, kid."

It held Jamie in place for a moment, at least until he saw Sergeant Palchuk heading upstairs. "Hey!" He chased after the man while the other two soldiers (or, Jamie realized, since he hadn't seen any IDs, _just trespassers in army fatigues_ ) spread out on the ground floor. "What are you doing?"

"If you were exposed to radiation, it could have spread to anything you've touched since then," Sergeant Palchuk said as he pushed open the door to Sophie's bedroom.

"Stay _out_ of there; that's my kid sister's room!"

"You didn't bring anything back from those caves, did you?" Sergeant Palchuck asked, as Jamie pulled his mom's bedroom door closed.

"What does it matter?"

Sergeant Palchuk snapped his eyes down at Jamie, frowning. "Haven't you been listening? It could be contaminated with _radiation_. _Deadly_ radiation."

"If you were worried about radiation, wouldn't you be wearing, like, protective suits or something?"

Sergeant Palchuk froze; it was quick, less than a second, but it was obvious Jamie had caught him in a lie. But then the man smiled, thin. "We're more concerned with _extended_ exposure. Is this your room?"

"Yeah, but-"

Sergeant Palchuk pushed into Jamie's room, scanning it with a quick perusal. "So, _did_ you pick up any souvenirs?"

"You can't just barge in here like you own the place!" Jamie protested, as Sergeant Palchuk pulled open the drawers of Jamie's desk. He flailed, shoving the drawers closed as Sergeant Palchuk drifted toward Jamie's closet, _where he'd stashed the book_.

Jamie interposed himself between Sergeant Palchuk and the closet. "Come on, if you're looking for something radioactive, you should have your lackey with the Geiger counter check this place out. You don't need to dig through my…you know...personal items." Jamie couldn't blush on command, but he _could_ refuse to meet Sergeant Palchuk's eyes, and that seemed to give the sergeant pause.

But that paralysis held only for a second before he shoved Jamie aside and yanked the door open, peering into the space with narrow eyes, like slits. The book wasn't _hidden_ , exactly, but Jamie held his breath, hoping that maybe Sergeant Palchuk didn't know _exactly_ what he was looking for. Sergeant Palchuk stood there for maybe a minute - it felt like _forever_ , but it _couldn't_ have been much longer, before the man whirled in place and lunged for Jamie's bed. He tilted it up like it weighed nothing, growling when he didn't find what he was looking for. Dropping the bed with a heavy thump, he yanked three drawers out of Jamie's dresser, pulled open the remaining drawers of his desk, and when he failed to find what he wanted, turned on Jamie, panting.

They stood there, staring at each other, for a long moment, and then Sergeant Palchuk lunged at Jamie. Jamie dodged to the side, but, realizing he'd misjudged his movements, stumbled against his bed. Sergeant Palchuk stopped, pivoted, and lunged again.

From his position braced against his bed, Jamie had...basically one option. He pulled up his left leg and lashed out. The kick to Sergeant Palchuk's crotch hit solidly, and the man crumpled to the ground. Jamie darted to his closet, grabbing his expedition pack, the book, and, with only a second to decide, two smaller bags of trinkets and artifacts he'd collected over the years. 

"Stephenson! Rogers!" Sergeant Palchuk howled. "Pin the kid _down_!"

Jamie kicked his bedroom door closed, wrenched his window open, and, as Sergeart Palchuk pushed himself to his feet, hopped out the window to the tree just outside. Sergeant Palchuk was still struggling with the window when Jamie dropped to the ground and evaluated his options. He was _certain_ Sergeant Palchuk could fool the police long enough to do something unpleasant to Jamie, so that was out. None of Jamie's friends really believed in magic stuff, so they wouldn't appreciate the importance of keeping the book from Sergeant Palchuk.

Later, Jamie would attribute his decision to the fact that he was sixteen and had never been taught how to deal with the sort of crises that came up in real life. He had a B average in honors calculus but that didn't apply to the situation of being pursued by either the military or a guy pretending to be military _at all_.

So Jamie, whose only education in dealing with hostile strangers was advice from a standup comedian paraphrasing a twenty-year-old safety lecture, did the only thing he could think of to throw Sergeant Palchuk off his rhythm, which was peel out of his driveway in the second-hand car he'd saved up for and wasn't allowed to drive without a licensed driver in the vehicle. Of course, having additional options didn't make it easier to figure out what to do.

The moment Jamie realized being in his car meant he could go practically anywhere-

He froze. Metaphorically; he was still driving, but the paralysis of the possibilities before him left his mind blank. He had an ancient book written in an unreadable language, a handful of artifacts that only _might_ be magical, and the army after him.

This was again, a situation public school education had not trained him for - here, there was only one frame of reference he had to fall back on.

"Jamie, what do you mean, a - _sabbatical_? You're a high school junior, not a - journalist."

Jamie, who'd called his mother about an hour away, outside Waltham, ducked into the shadow of the rest stop. "Look, I've been juggling school, my extracurricular research, Sophie-"

"Jamie," his mother said firmly, "what's going on? Are you in trouble?"

"Of course not! I just - I've been overwhelmed, lately. With all the pressure at school for colleges, the tests, the - everything." Jamie sank down against the concrete paving the stop. "Mom, I know we talked about a trip the summer before college, looking for the Jersey Devil, Sasquatch-"

"When you were 18, when you could legally drive, could check into hotels yourself. Jamie, you can't _do_ this." There was a moment of quiet. "If your father were here, he would want you to come home."

Jamie's heart skipped a beat. His mother didn't talk about his dad, like, at all. She'd said once, in his freshman year, that a good guideline for behavior was figuring out what Jamie's father would do, and...do the opposite.

He hadn't considered that Sergeant Palchuk would go to his _mom_ , although it seemed obvious in retrospect.

"Jamie, I _insist_ that you come home _now_ , or the consequences will be _dire_."

Jamie glanced down the road; he couldn't see anything out of the ordinary, but he hadn't become a reasonably well-adjusted student of the paranormal by ignoring his mother.

"...Yeah," he said. "I'll be home before sunset."

"Jamie?" his mother asked. "Be careful."

"Of course, Mom. Love you."

"...I love you, too."

Jamie hung up and jogged back to his car, and ten minutes later was headed toward New Jersey. It'd started there, and so it meant it was a good place to start figuring out where to go next.

By the time it was dark, Jamie was reconsidering that plan, especially after he pulled off the New Jersey Turnpike to find a hotel that wouldn't ask too many questions and immediately got lost on a twisting gravel road that wasn't on the GPS.

And then he nearly hit a deer and drove off the road. In the quiet moment after he stopped, Jamie took stock. He didn't think he was injured, and couldn't smell smoke, but would have to get out to determine the extent of any possible damage. He took a few deep breaths and pushed the door open.

He'd just finished examining the front tires and stepped around to the back when he heard a rustling behind him. Jamie paused, one hand on the tail light, and scanned the woods. He didn't see anything, but then heard a noise to his right, and snapped his head around.

...He suddenly wasn't certain the thing he'd avoided running over had been a _deer_.

"Hello? If I'm trespassing somewhere, I didn't mean to - I'm trying to find the Motel 6 off of Exit-"

"Doesn't _sound_ like-"

" _Shut up_!"

Jamie swallowed, his vague uncertainty twisting and transmuted into a spark of fear. "My name is Jamie Bennett and I mean you no harm."

"Well, anyone can _say_ that, Jamie Bennett." The voice that spoke was steady, deep, but defensive. A little frightened, Jamie thought, like himself. "But I've met plenty of people who _said_ they were on my side, up until they turned out to be hunters, or blood sorcerers, or _PETA_."

"I, um, don't know much about Blood Magic," Jamie replied. "It's pretty bad stuff, right? I guess, if you put them in the same category as-" He paused, running the concerns of the creature out in the woods through his mind. "Are you the Jersey Devil?"

"What? No!"

"A jackalope?"

"Okay, stop with the guesses; this isn't a game show."

"Oh." Jamie settled back against his car. "Um, are you going to eat me or anything?"

"No; King Toby does not believe in eating human." This was a more gravelly voice, the speaker less articulate than the other.

"That's...good to know."

"No, we're not going to eat you. Can't say the same for Clyde's lackeys, though, so you might want to book it before they find us again."

Jamie's blood ran cold. It _could_ be a coincidence, but Sergeant Palchuk had been asking about Jamie's trip to New Jersey. "Clyde… _Palchuk_?"

"Where did you hear that name?" the voice of the creature that wasn't a jackalope demanded.

"I'm sort of trying to get away from him. See, I found this weird old book while spelunking-"

"What _sort_ of book?" the voice demanded.

Jamie took a few cautious steps around the car, wondering if he could get behind the wheel before the creature caught on. "Just a - a book. But the guy was _really_ interested in it-"

"Hold on." Something darted in front of Jamie's feet; he yelped and hopped back before swinging his phone around to illuminate it. It looked like a rabbit, a sort of blue-grey color, covered in weird, twisting patterns like dye. They raised up on their hind legs, face twisting in disdain (it was the oddest thing Jamie had seen, a rabbit scowling at him). "There is an exactly _zero_ chance Clyde Palchuk knows that book _exists_."

Jamie had been raised mostly right. He did his chores (mostly), was nice to his sister, and didn't swear.

But some circumstances required it.

"Holy _fuck_ , you're a _Pooka_."

The rabbit stilled, scowl shifting into something distant, worried. "...What do you mean, a Pooka?"

"You're supposed to be _extinct_ ," Jamie whispered, awed. Because whatever Pooka really were, they were always talked about in the past tense.

"Well, I'm _not_ ," the Pooka snapped, before pausing, nose twitching, and pulling back on their haunches. "I mean-"

"Aster, I smell _more_ humans." The creature that lumbered into view was soft in shape, but their skin glinted oddly in the light, like stone, and he felt a thrill. That was a _troll_.

"Look," Jamie said, "If we're both running from the same dude, I can give you a ride."

Aster's nose twitched again, considering, before their ears twisted around. "Alright, yeah. Wumpa, in the back. Kid, first thing you're going to do is let me see whatever book you've got stashed in here. Second thing-" Wumpa's stomach growled, "we get something to eat."

\---

"So, we kill the mother?" Rogers asked.

Clyde rolled his eyes; it was frustrating, the quality of cultist he was saddled with these days. "Of course not. We're going to need _leverage_ when we finally catch up with him. Now figure out where the hell he's taking the Light of Creation."


	7. Glory

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An ordinary day becomes a race to find their way through Merlin's Tomb, to find the man himself, or the treasures he left behind,

At 10:30 in the morning on a day in early December, during history with Mr. Strickler, Jim got a text from an unfamiliar number.

'Sos gnm @ wiz tomb'

Jim frowned at the message for a moment, trying to decipher it. 

"Mr. Lake," Mr. Strickler said, "This is not the time nor the place for...tweeting."

'Sos' must have meant 'S.O.S.' And 'gnm'...

"You're right," Jim said. "I think you should confiscate my phone."

"That is hardly necessary, if you agree to-"

"I _really_ think you should _take my phone_ ," Jim repeated. "Look at what I'm looking at to make sure I'm not doing anything untoward."

Mr. Strickler, looking at Jim, narrowed his eyes; Jim nodded.

"Very well. Hand it over, Mr. Lake."

Jim stood, crossed to the front of the room, and handed his unlocked phone to Mr. Strickler. He peered at the message briefly, flicked his gaze to the source number, and his eyes widened.

"Ah." He looked up at the class. "Miss Wang, you're in charge until I return. Mr. Lake and I need to have a conversation about the appropriateness of texting in class. Come on." They were only a few steps away from Mr. Strickler's office, where he grabbed his desk phone and began dialling.

"Mr. Strickler?" Jim asked. "What-"

"This is from Nomura. Gunmar has located Merlin's Tomb, and, from the urgency of her message, is making a move on...whatever its contents are."

Jim still wasn't certain if 'Merlin's Tomb' actually contained the body of Merlin, but if Gunmar cared about it, the tomb doubtless had _something_ worth whatever risk was involved getting it.

"Then what are you doing?"

Mr. Strickler held up a hand. "Bular, your father's found the old man's tomb - get ahold of the other trolls so we can get moving." He hung up and stepped around his desk, twisting his favorite pen apart to press half of it, a gold-colored key, into a hole in the wall behind it. The wall fell aside to reveal several shelves of strange devices. A gaggletack, an iron flask-

"You have five minutes," Mr. Strickler said. "So whichever of your friends-"

"Right!"

Jim bolted out of Mr. Strickler's office. Toby would be in algebra, so-

He ran into another student; Jim grunted as he fell to the ground. The other student, a lanky, dark-haired boy (an odd shade that struck Jim as familiar, somehow), sprawled next to Jim. He glanced over at Jim with yellow eyes (gold?), an apologetic smile on his lips.

"Sorry about that, dude. Didn't have my eyes on the road."

Jim opened his mouth to respond, except a sudden feeling of - _shock_ overwhelmed him. It took a second to realize the feeling wasn't his own; the fallout of Mordred's temporary possession of Jim's body had eroded some of the distance between them.

 _Mordred?_ he thought, quietly, at the other boy.

 _We do_ not _have the time,_ Mordred replied. _Go._

"It's fine, really," Jim said. He fumbled to his feet and hauled the other boy up before turning back toward Toby's classroom. "Have a good day!"

Jim didn't bother thinking of an excuse, just shoving the door to the math classroom open. "Hey, Tobes, we gotta go."

"Right." Toby grabbed his bag and was on his feet a second faster than someone without control of their personal gravity field could have. "Sorry, gotta go! Family emergency."

"We're in a race against Gunmar to Merlin's Tomb, which I really hope Nomura tells us where it is," Jim explained once Toby was outside. "Do we need anyone else?"

Toby frowned, thoughtful, and Jim felt a moment of unease. Toby had obviously been overjoyed to have Jim back, and had responded by being a little closer than usual. But Jim had the feeling there was a new distance between them, and moments like this, he felt the distance in particular. Because Toby would normally think out loud, except there was something he was considering he didn't want Jim to hear.

"I mean, old magic tomb, Eli's a given. I say leave Team Nuñez here; this could be a feint."

"Right. I'll update Mary, you get Eli? Meet in front of the school with Mr. Strickler in three?"

"Done!"

Jim texted Mary on his way to the front entrance - 'Gotta chase Gunmar, you Claire and Darci keep tabs here'

And then he saw Mr. Strickler, and a minute later, Toby showed up, trailed by Eli and Steve (unexpected, as it'd been a bit of a chore to get Eli and Steve in the same room for the past week or so, but welcome). Steve was adjusting something under the collar of his shirt, a sign that there was a good chance he had his phylactery on hand.

Eli was frowning at his phone, but looked up at a nudge from Toby.

"So, where are we going?" Eli asked.

Mr. Strickler waved at them to follow, but began speaking as they stepped into motion. "Point Nemo. 'Arthur' was, it seems, correct in his assessment that Merlin wanted a truly remote retreat, and Morgana had the time and resources to figure out what that was."

"How exactly are we getting to Point Nemo?" Eli asked, phone open. "By definition, it's not near, well, _anything_."

"Okay, someone's going to need to clue me in," Steve complained as they piled into Mr. Strickler's car, sprawling in the middle seat between Eli and Toby. "Because you're throwing this name around like it's supposed to mean something to me."

"Point Nemo's the oceanic pole of inaccessibility," Eli replied. "The absolute furthest point from any landmass on Earth. A thousand miles from _anywhere_ , _astronauts_ spend more time near it than anyone else."

"...Yeah," Steve agreed. "That's a - how the fuck do we get there? Uh, sorry, Mr. Strickler."

"The Gyre," Mr. Strickler said. "Gunmar has been seeking out trolls _everywhere_ , and a Gyre station so far away from _everyone_ aroused concern." He pulled out of the high school parking lot and took a deep breath. "I feel compelled to reiterate that adherence to the law is vital to a well-run society, but that on occasion, true emergencies may warrant...extreme measures."

"What?" Toby asked.

The Mt. Wilson Observatory was about an hour from Arcadia.

 _Normally_.

With Mr. Strickler behind the wheel, with a _true_ emergency, it took twenty minutes. Having nearly died several times in the past year, Jim couldn't qualify the experience as the most harrowing of his life, but.

It was _close_.

They didn't have time for posturing, or kissing the ground at their relief of not having died in a fiery wreck. Instead they threw themselves out of the car, Eli handing over to Toby a weighted crowbar etched with strange lines, Jim calling the Amulet, and Mr. Strickler abandoning his human guise.

"Are we heading in there now?" Jim asked.

Mr. Strickler glanced at his phone, a moment before it vibrated. He gave Jim a thin smile. "Give it three, two, one-"

A high-riding vehicle, armored like a tank, burst through the trees. It was white with gold highlights, which meant there was only one person it could belong to.

Indeed, as the vehicle drew up to the edge of the cave, and the doors opened to let out Blinky, Aaarrrgghh, and Draal, the changeling Frederick, in a long coat that looked like it had been made to match the truck (or vice versa), dropped down from the driver's side. He grinned at Mr. Strickler.

"You owe me, Stricklander."

"Owe - you aren't doing me a favor, Frederick - this is literally what you signed on for."

Frederick clicked his tongue. "I did not sign up for letting trolls tear up my upholstery. I was _clear_ about that."

Mr. Strickler rolled his eyes. "Presuming I survive, and we can prevent the end of the world at Morgana's hands, we can discuss this further. However, we must get _going_."

It took only a minute to find the Gyre station, and a few more for Mr. Strickler to figure out how to access the station at Point Nemo, where Merlin had built a monument or tomb or library or _whatever_ Merlin's Tomb really was.

 _Mom always thought that's where he kept his greatest creations,_ Mordred muttered.

Unsurprising, then, she'd have Gunmar go after it, Jim thought.

Five seconds before the Gyre slammed to a halt, Jim felt a shift in the air, a chill that carried something else with it, a dryness to the air, Jim thought. But then Toby glanced at him, eyebrows raising high. "Dude, armor up."

"What? I-" Jim looked down; he had neither the armor _or_ Daylight on hand. "I had it _on_ when we left."

"Oh my," Blinky murmured. "You don't think-"

"It makes perfect sense," Mr. Strickler said, sneering. "Merlin would not want to risk the possibility that some intruder may be more powerful than him."

"Gonna need a full sentence or something," Toby said.

"The tomb is warded against magic - even Merlin's own magic," Draal replied.

Toby hopped a few inches off the ground, eyebrows rising when he hit the ground. "Well. My gravity powers _do_ count as magic."

Getting out of the Gyre, Steve tripped and slammed heavily into the ground. "Fuck," he muttered.

There was laughter in the back of Jim's head as Eli helped Steve up, muttering to him in concerned tones; the laughter continued through Jim's demands for an explanation, leaving him no more enlightened.

The Gyre station was little more than a tight cave with a wide horizontal gash on the far side. And on the other side of the gash was…

"I thought dragons weren't real," Toby said, voice choked. Awed. Because perched atop a massive portal carved of metal that soaked up the light of torches sitting on either side of it, was a shape. A skeleton, wired or glued together, head curved around to rest at about eye level on the left side of the door. Fangs the length of Jim's forearm gleamed golden in the light. Wings, or the skeleton of wings, arced over the tableau.

"If dragons weren't real, Mr. Domzalski," Mr. Strickler said evenly, "How would you know what they look like?"

"For a creature of magic," Blinky added, "Real and unreal are just - words. I wouldn't imagine there's a single living dragon on Earth, but occasionally, the impossible realms they dwell in open to allow one into the world."

"Dragon blood," Aaarrrgghh mused. "Dragon bones. No magic."

"Quite astute," Mr. Strickler agreed. "If one has the corpse of a dragon on hand, one likely has the materials necessary to ward against magic. Regardless, without evidence of whether Gunmar's party has passed through, we should hurry."

Aaarrrgghh took the lead as the humans struggled to keep up behind him and the other trolls. The space beyond the great arch narrowed almost immediately; the ten-foot ceilings and fifteen-foot-wide passages were more than adequate for humans, but appeared cramped for Aaarrrgghh and Draal, who hunched uncomfortably as they walked.

And paused. The passage split into three, the middle passage rising as it moved, the rightmost sinking, and the leftmost curving to the left.

"Oh, _god_ ," Steve groaned. "I cannot deal with this maze bullshit."

"If you weren't ready to deal with the obstacles Merlin laid before you, you should not have come," Draal growled.

Jim held his breath a moment, expecting an argument. But Steve instead huffed, giving a mostly inaudible grumble. "It's still stupid," he muttered. "According to all of Eli's dumb movies, two of those paths lead to gratuitously gory deaths."

"Maybe there is some sort of clue to the way through," Blinky offered, pushing to the front of the group.

"Unless you need six eyes to see it, there isn't anything," Draal snapped.

 _Damn._ Jim perked his head up; next to him, Toby gave him a curious look.

"Jimbo?"

"It's - Arthur," Jim replied. _Mordred?_

 _If Merlin were worried about Morgana, he may have laid some hint under layers of magic -_ Light _Magic._

"He says if there's any clues, they'd only be visible to someone who knew Light Magic."

"Well, I know a spell or two-"

"No offense, Elijah, but I am certain Merlin would not have made his secrets available for mere apprentices," Blinky interjected.

_Unless…_

"It can't hurt," Jim called out. _What was that about?_

 _I'll tell you if we get out of here alive,_ Mordred replied.

Eli, already ignoring Blinky's objections before Jim's interjection, was tracing his fingers along the walls separating the tunnels. "Huh, there _is_ a note! It says 'keep level-headed'. That...doesn't help."

"But what if it _does_?" Toby piped up. "It sounds like a reminder, which means it's something that'd make sense to Merlin. Keeping 'level', though - that could be the middle road, right?"

"No, wait - Eli was playing some house building game and there was a 'level' tool that flattened the ground," Steve said, earning a startled look from Eli. "It's gotta be the left one, the flat one."

"Hm, that _does_ make sense," Blinky said.

"Yeah, let's go for it," Toby replied. "If we're running off of random notes scrawled in the dungeon, _I'm_ not going to debate that _my_ half-assed guess is any better than _yours_."

No one moved. After about ten seconds, Steve sighed and walked toward the left branch, moving steadily, hands clenched at his sides. Five feet down the tunnel, he paused and turned, jaw twitching. "Is the plan to see if Merlin's traps are gonna kill me, or are you coming?"

Draal was the first to join him, moving at an easy lope, and clapped Steve on the shoulder. "You're a brave man, Steven." He glanced back at the rest of them. "Let's go."

They walked for another five minutes, falling silent after only a few moments. Jim spent the time straining for some sign of Gunmar's team - either in front of or behind them, but to no effect. Steve was still at the front, so when he stopped abruptly, Draal ran into him with a shout, eliciting a yowl from Steve.

"Is everyone okay?" Jim called.

"Fine. Fine," Steve replied. "Just...can you pull me back like, six inches, Draal? I am not comfortable with these floor tiles."

It took a minute to shuffle the group so Jim could see what had made Steve stop. The hall opened into a room, over a hundred feet across, tiled with wide blocks on which were carved strange symbols. At the far end of the room was a wide, blocky opening, above which was a carving of a bearded human man with piercing blue eyes.

"Goodness, those are runes," Blinky declared.

"Like spell?" Aaarrrgghh asked.

"Perhaps."

_Is that Merlin?_

There was a hint of a chuckle from Mordred. _If whoever carved this was trying to make his chin look smaller, yes._

Jim peered at the carving, feeling that it was important - no matter how self-important stories about Merlin made him _seem_ , he didn't seem the type to stick his face somewhere for no reason. It took a moment to notice it - a blank slate set just over the carving's head.

Steve yelped and stumbled, tripping onto the slate nearest the door. Everyone froze; a quiet scratching sound was the only noise to interrupt the silence. Jim raised his eyes, to where a symbol was now carved in the blank slate.

"Blinky?" Jim asked. "What does that rune there mean?"

"Well-"

"Can it be a letter?"

Blinky frowned, thoughtful. "This runic system _does_ have a standard Anglicization. That rune is typically written as an 'm'."

"Is there an 'E' near Steve?"

"Yes, that square ahead of him to the right."

Jim grinned. "Steve! I think we need to jump on tiles that spell Merlin's name. Hop on that 'e'!"

Steve was silent a moment, but then hopped forward.

And the ground crumbled beneath him.

" _Steve_!"

Even as Eli screamed, frozen in place, Draal leapt forward. Aaarrrgghh grabbed his leg as Draal reached down, and Steve's scream cut off in a small gasp.

Eli scrambled forward. "Are you okay?"

"I've got him," Draal growled.

Once so assured, Eli spun, glowering at Jim; he took a step back, despite himself, at the ferocity in Eli's gaze. "What was that?"

"What? We went down this path on Steve's say-so-"

"And _you_ nearly got him killed!"

"True," Mr. Strickler agreed, stepping smoothly between Jim and Eli, turned away from Jim. "But not from malice, _certainly_ , Elijah."

"I - guess not."

"The fault seems to be from a rather unfortunate interpretation of our goal. If we are spelling Merlin's name, we should not be using his diminutive - his nickname."

"Myrddin Wyllt!" Blinky declared.

"Exactly," Mr. Strickler agreed. "There is a tile marked with the rune translated as 'y' to your direct left, Mr. Palchuk."

When Steve stepped on that tile, a rune appeared next to the first on the slate. Jim let out a tense sigh. Trailing after Steve, following Blinky's and Mr. Strickler's directions, the group quickly made it to the far end of the room, where the slate now read (presumably) 'Myrddin Wyllt'.

"If Indiana Jones has taught me anything," Toby commented as they continued down along a path sloping slightly down, "Get ready to duck in the next room."

Jim let his voice huff, a little amused. He doubted Merlin had cribbed off of 'The Last Crusade', but the _structure_ of their passage through the tomb felt familiar.

"Fucking _hell_ ," Steve snapped, drawing Jim's attention up, where Steve and Draal stood at a T-shaped intersection, the leftmost path rising,and the rightmost continuing downward.

Eli edged his way past Aaarrrgghh to examine the wall between the two paths, frowning. "Steady on," he said thoughtfully.

"Keep going down?" Steve mused.

While Steve and Eli peered down the right branch, Jim found his gaze drawn to the wall in front of them. He doubted Merlin would make it easier as you got further into his tomb, which meant - what? The notes were there to let an absent-minded Merlin remember where to go, not to tell other people which paths were right. And presuming this place was built to keep people _away_ from Merlin's secrets, they couldn't expect anything to be straightforward.

Jim took a few hesitant steps forward before gritting his teeth and walking into the wall between the two branching paths.

And then he was through, standing in a passage identical to the one they'd been traversing.

"Jim? Jimbo?"

Jim stuck his head back out and waved to Toby. "Fake wall, dude." He rapped his knuckles against the nonexistent wall, passing through it.

"This is so fucking stupid," Steve grumbled as they filed through the fake wall. "Do we even know what we're here for?"

"Merlin was notoriously closed-mouthed about his projects," Blinky replied. "So there's no way to say."

"But this might really be Merlin's tomb," Jim offered.

"Metaphorically," Blinky clarified. "The general consensus is that Merlin, exhausted from his conflicts with Morgana and his other enemies, retreated to a secret location to rejuvenate himself."

"Dibs on _not_ kissing the billion-year-old wizard to wake him up," Steve said.

There was a moment of quiet after that before Mr. Strickler spoke. "Given we have the Trollhunter with us, that should not be necessary."

"Gross," Toby replied.

"What? No, I - if Merlin _is_ in this tomb, mere proximity to the Amulet of Daylight should revive him."

Jim felt a moment of relief, albeit with the muted edge that meant he was feeling the echo of Mordred's emotions, rather than his own. _...You don't think I'll actually have to kiss him, do you?_

 _No,_ Mordred retorted, though there was an edge to his emotions that suggested he was anxious about _something_. _He's not the type._

"Um."

Jim snapped his head up, finding they had stopped again, this time at the edge of a massive canyon that plunged down into complete darkness. Jim felt a shiver at the sight of it, though the chasm didn't look exactly like the Deep. Jim thought he saw a flicker of movement in the path beyond the gap, stomach twisting anxiously at the thought their enemies might have beat them here.

"There's no bridge," Steve grumbled. "Unless it's intangible, which would defeat the fucking point."

"Well, there has to be a way across!"

"Wrong way?" Aaarrrgghh inquired, and that dropped them into a moment of quiet contemplation.

It _was_ possible this was a dead end, although unless the tomb was a maze of different exhibits or chambers, Jim doubted Merlin would develop a dead end when he could easily leave some trap to kill people on the wrong paths. But the other possibility required them to figure out how to bypass the chasm.

It was the same issue with the secret door, Jim realized - he shouldn't think of it as a puzzle to solve, but a security feature, and one that wouldn't take too much for the owner to bypass.

A password was probably the easiest way through, but what Merlin would use as a password was beyond Jim.

"Archimedes," Jim said aloud; Eli and Toby, standing nearest to him, gave him an odd look, to which he shook his head.

 _A nice thought, but I doubt Archimedes is even his real name,_ Mordred commented wryly.

 _Do_ you _have any ideas?_

Toby raised an eyebrow at Jim. "You okay?"

"Yeah, I - it's easier talking to - Arthur than it used to be, and _he_ doesn't have any bright ideas." Toby lowered his eyebrows, but he kept his eyes on Jim, either assessing or judgmental, which wasn't fair - _Toby_ was keeping something from _Jim_ , and hadn't seen fit to feel guilty about it.

" _Anyway_ , anyone have any ideas of passwords Merlin might have used?" Jim asked.

" _Avalon_ ," Blinky said. A low grinding noise filled the air, and ahead of them, stones began sliding out of the far end of the room, forming a wide bridge across the room.

"Good job," Jim said, jogging forward. "Now let's _go_ ; I think I saw someone ahead of us."

He heard a growl from Draal, but really didn't have time to worry about it as they ran through the passage. Jim stumbled when he heard a howl, and saw the others shiver, as well.

And then they burst into a wide chamber, two, three hundred feet across, hundreds of feet high, and deep, deeper than the chasm in the previous room. A mazelike spread of bone-white paths rose from the edge of the room, arcing toward the far walls, deep into the chasm, and up toward a pillar rising from the darkness, dozens of feet above the level on which they stood, illuminated with pure white light. A tripod sat at the top of the pillar, holding up a gnarled wooden staff topped with a tight ring of crystals.

"The Staff of Avalon," Blinky whispered.

"Enjoy your last chance to gaze upon Merlin's greatest treasure." Jim started at the booming voice, gaze rising to see Gunmar balanced between two paths, the Decimaar Blade slung across his shoulders. "As you will not leave this chamber alive."

"I wouldn't bet on it," Jim growled.

"Gruthark, Grendel, take care of them. Dictatious, _come_."

"Oh, fuck," Toby muttered. Because the massive pale-skinned troll Gruthark was running toward them along a path that swept deep into the chasm. And another troll, no more than eight feet tall, skin grey-green, slavering, mouth wide to reveal dozens of needle-sharp teeth, and eyes gleaming with a poisonous yellow glow, loped down toward them. A howl twisted from their throat, and Jim felt his heart drop.

Because Gunmar had called that troll 'Grendel', who was supposed to be _dead_.

And then Gruthark leapt at them, and there wasn't any time for thinking.

Aaarrrgghh threw himself in Gruthark's path, catching the massive troll's arm as they swung it down, a warhammer held in the troll's grasp like it was no more than a tool for hammering in nails. Gruthark's momentum made Aaarrrgghh stumble, slamming into the wall of the thirty-foot platform dividing the passage and the maze of paths.

Draal crouched briefly and ran to meet Grendel, slamming a blade into the other troll's side. Grendel, who carried no weapons, snapped his jaws at Draal, clamping his teeth into Draal's forearm. Draal howled and kicked Grendel, but Grendel didn't react to the strike, instead clawing at Draal's face.

"Jimbo-"

"We need to go after Gunmar. Come on!" Jim didn't wait to look, but was certain Toby was running behind him as they climbed the twisting paths. As they rounded a path that made a wide circuit of the room, Jim saw Mr. Strickler circling Draal and Grendel, throwing knives opportunistically at the enemy troll. Eli and Steve were just behind Jim and Toby, both armed with what looked like tasers.

Gruthark knocked Aaarrrgghh aside, a blow that sent him skidding to the very edge of the small landing they'd been fighting on. Then Gruthark crouched and launched themself upward. They landed no more than thirty feet away, shaking the paths enough that Jim thought he heard them crack.

"Oh god, we're gonna die," Steve muttered.

"Of course you're going to die," Gruthark retorted. "You came here, expecting to defeat Gunmar, to defeat Gruthark the Unbowed, to defeat _Grendel the Insatiable_."

"Grendel's dead," Eli said, though his voice was shaky. "There's an epic poem about it."

"That's the funny thing about sorceresses," Gruthark said, crouching for another jump, hand tightening around their hammer, "There is _nothing_ that is beyond them - even making _dead men_ fight for them."

Jim's head turned despite himself, mouth moving without his input. "Grendel is _dead_ , Draal! You're fighting a shade with his face!"

"That won't help him," Gruthark growled, and leapt, swinging their hammer as he did.

And then Toby was next to Jim, hip-checking him to the side as Gruthark descended. And as the massive troll landed, Toby ran at them, flailing with his crowbar, slamming it into-

Jim winced. Gruthark's face didn't shift, but their body did, one foot falling back an inch too far, and then he was toppling back. Gruthark's free hand snapped out to grab Toby's shoulder, and then _both_ of them were falling.

"Toby!" Jim was at the edge of the path, reaching down as if he could catch Toby, before he could form thought. All he could do, though, was watch helplessly as his best friend fell away from him, into the bottomless pit of Merlin's Tomb (not bottomless - _eventually_ they'd hit ground, or magma). 

A desperate huff escaped his mouth when Gruthark, larger than any other creature Merlin had expected to enter his tomb, slammed into a set of paths with a bone-shaking impact. Toby rolled away from Gruthark in the moment after landing, but as Gruthark rose, Jim could see they stood between Toby and any path away. Jim's breath caught, chest tightening, as he watched the troll bear down on Toby.

" _Zun Haal Viik_!" Mordred screamed with Jim's throat. The sound exploded from his mouth, rising like a roar, and below, Gruthark's hand spasmed and flew open as their hammer spun from their grasp.

Toby, ever ready, leapt at the weapon as it soared away, catching it and landing light on his feet.

 _Come on, let's go!_ Mordred pushed Jim into movement rather than allowing him to make sure Toby would be alright.

_What did you - I thought magic didn't work down here!_

_The wards are of dragonblood - of course Dragon Magic would still work._ Jim coughed, finding his throat scratchy and sore. _Though I wouldn't recommend we do that again._

Toby let out a war cry and a moment later the entire structure shook. Jim stumbled, caught himself, and sprinted toward Gunmar and Dictatious, Steve and Eli behind him. Turning a corner, he saw Grendel snapping at Aaarrrgghh, Draal, Mr. Strickler _and_ Blinky, evading grabs, sword strikes, and Mr. Strickler's daggers with preternatural ease. It was like watching Steve fight while under the influence of Deya's Grace, Grendel barely seeming to pay attention to his surroundings as he ducked under a pair of swords to tear at Aaarrrgghh's ankle, swiping at Mr. Strickler's side as he hopped over Aaarrrgghh's arms as Aaarrrgghh tried to grab him…

Jim pressed himself, sprinting up the paths to reach the very edge of the platform as Gunmar stepped toward the tripod holding the Staff of Avalon.

And then the ground jumped under Jim's feet; when he landed, stumbling down to his hands and knees, he could feel the ground under him still shuddering, and then heard a worrying crack.

"Uh," Jim said, and then the world began to slide sideways.

Gunmar lunged forward to grab the Staff of Avalon and turned. "We're _leaving_!" he snapped.

Jim scrabbled at the smooth stone, but found his hands slipping as the ground tilted further. He looked up, feeling a rising panic in his chest, and met six unblinking brown eyes. Dictatious, two arms digging into the stone of the platform, grabbed Jim by his shoulders and threw him twenty feet away, where he landed on a wide path. Jim lay there for a moment, breathing hard. And then the path underneath him began to shift, as well.

He scrambled to his feet, seeing no evidence of Dictatious, only the path on the other side of the pillar crumbling as the pillar continued to topple toward the paths beneath Jim. He sprinted to paths not in the immediate arc of the collapsing pillar. The pillar slammed into the path just behind Jim, causing the entire structure to shake as it fell through, huge pieces of stone falling into the walls of the room.

The entire room shuddered, and when the shaking stopped, Jim could see deep fissures in the far wall where the pillar had collided.

The fissures seemed to be pulsing, and then widened with a deafening crack.

"Guys, we gotta go!"

As Jim turned toward his friends, it was to see a huge crack running along the wall above the entrance of the room. What happened next seemed to do so in slow motion as the wall shattered, stone raining down in an avalanche that, on settling, had fully blocked their exit.

Jim stared at it for a long moment.

At their escape back to the surface world, _closed_.

The Staff of Avalon, _whatever_ it was, lost to them.

And then something cold fell on Jim's neck, and he startled.

He scanned the room quickly; Draal was leaning heavily against Aaarrrgghh, while Mr. Strickler was hopping between paths toward Jim, Steve, and Eli. Blinky's gaze was darting around the walls. And Toby-

Jim sighed in relief when he saw Toby stumbling up toward him, Gruthark's hammer dangling loosely in his grip.

"Tobes! You alright?"

Toby grinned up at Jim, giving him a thumbs up.

And then Jim felt another touch of cold.

_Jim?_

"What?" Jim scowled when he realized he'd said that out loud.

_Have you ever considered what might happen when you cause massive structural damage to a tomb built on the seabed?_

Jim's subsequent chill wasn't from anything falling on him, but on following Mordred's question to its natural consequences.

"Guys! We need a way out _now_!"

"I am looking as hard as I can, Jim!"

"I got it covered!"

Toby had found, it seemed, a passage that ran up against a wall other than the room's entrance. Bracing himself, he swung back the hammer he'd taken from Gruthark and slammed it into the wall.

The stone shattered, falling away to leave an opening almost perfectly shaped like the other portals. As Jim heard a distant groan from above, everyone ran for the new exit. There was something odd about Toby's new hammer, Jim thought as he passed, but at the moment he didn't have the time to think about it. As Mr. Strickler, bringing up the rear, entered the tunnel, Toby swung his hammer at the wall, collapsing the ten feet closest to the chamber just a moment before Jim saw a wall of water plunging through the space beyond.

Not knowing how long Toby's barrier would hold, they sprinted along the path, which, ill-lit, dusty, and twisting as it sank downward, was nothing like the other passages.

 _Where_ it went, Jim didn't know, except that as long as they hadn't drowned, it was better than the large chamber. As they jogged forward, though, Jim felt a growing sense of unease - though he couldn't identify the source of the sensation.

The sense flared and faded, suddenly, to only a faint feeling. _Sorry,_ Mordred muttered.

_What's wrong?_

_...He's here._

Jim ran into Draal's back. "What's going-"

"Just remember I am _not_ kissing him."

"Oh my god, Steve, we _get it_!"

"Guys? What's going on?"

Draal stepped aside, and Jim had a chance to see what had made him stop.

The room wasn't as vast or grand as any others. It was maybe twenty feet on a side, but was dominated by a stone slab, on which lay a man, bearded, pale-skinned, and still. Dressed in spotless silver armor, he could have been asleep, or dead (except by legend it'd been centuries, after which there wouldn't be anything left), and Jim found himself drawing closer almost unconsciously.

His right hand twitched, and he saw the Amulet of Daylight was there. And when he stepped within arms reach of the slab, Jim's breath caught as something washed over him. It wasn't oppressive or painful, and after a moment, he realized it was because the sensation was familiar, something he hadn't even realized he could normally sense.

And with that feeling - the return of _magic_ , Jim knew what to do. He took another step closer, hand raising to hover over the still figure's chest.

"For the Glory of Merlin…"

The man lurched upward with a gasp, one hand snapping out to grasp at Jim's wrist. Blue eyes blazed at Jim, and the man's mouth twisted into a toothy smile.

"James Lake," the man whispered, before tilting his head, white eyebrows fluttering down, concerned. "I expected you to be taller."

"I'm sixteen," Jim replied.

Merlin frowned. "You were supposed to be...older."

"Yeah, well, take it up with Archimedes," Jim snapped. "Because we're stuck with each other until I kick the bucket."

There was a distant crash.

"Jimbo!" Toby shouted.

Jim grit his teeth and nodded. "Right. Look, Mr. Merlin, sir, this is probably not how you wanted to wake up, but this place is sort of being flooded, so we were hoping you had some sort of way out-"

"Way _out_? Why would you ever need that?" Merlin swung his legs around off the slab and stood, plucking the Amulet of Daylight from Jim's grasp as he did. "No, I prepared for this exact moment." He stopped by an apparently unremarkable stretch of wall, and pressed the Amulet into it. He turned to Jim and winked. "Going up?"

The floor jolted under their feet, and when Jim found his balance again, he realized they were moving.

They were moving _up_.

"Next stop, sea level," Merlin said in a sing-song voice.

\---

Just after Rachel Pepperjack finished lunch, the doorbell rang. Leaving her plate where it was, she walked to the front door, pausing to peer through the peephole.

A small, dark-haired man stood on the front step, flanked by a pair of people in dark suits who were undoubtedly bodyguards. Or muscle.

She tugged open the front door and offered a gentle smile. "Good afternoon! How can I help you?"

"My name is Otto Scarbach, Mrs. Pepperjack, and I am here to speak to you about your son."

"Is - he in trouble?"

"If I could come in, Mrs. Pepperjack, I can explain everything."

Rachel tugged in her smile, narrowed her eyes. "I think I'd like to know what this is about before I invite you in, Mr. Scarbach."

Otto chuckled. "You're talking like I'm a _vampire_ , Mrs. Pepperjack."

"You're not a vampire," Rachel said. "You're a troll. A changeling, in the employ of Morgana Le Fey. You've tried to kill my son at least once already."

Otto's eyes, bright blue, flashed a dangerous, baleful yellow, and his polite smile transformed into something pointed and vicious. "It would have gone better for you, Mrs. Pepperjack, if you hadn't known that."

He pressed forward; Rachel slammed the front door closed, but Otto smashed through it with a fist coated in iron. But she was already hurrying through the house toward the backyard. Otto scrambled after her; she didn't hear his lackeys, which could have meant they were watching the front door, or trying to catch her.

A vast, flexible limb whipped out to catch Rachel's ankle. She yanked her foot away from the grasp, but slowed, stumbling into the wall.

"If you know what your son has been up to, you must know why we are here. Your son is a great thorn in our side, Mrs. Pepperjack."

Despite her best efforts, Rachel hadn't been able to keep her son out of his friends' supernatural shenanigans. It was hard to be upset with him, not when he'd come home exhausted in the aftermath of rescuing innocent creatures from the thoroughly unpleasant Order of Dawn. Elijah talked less about the few times he'd vanished to help his friend Jim, but she didn't doubt he brought the same enthusiasm to that work as he did the research he'd engaged in before this had all started.

She threw herself into the backyard, where Otto's lackeys had, in fact, forced open the back gate and stood there, watching her with narrow eyes (more changelings, she bet).

"Mrs. Pepperjack, this is pointless. We don't plan to hurt you, not so long as your son cooperates."

Rachel glanced toward Otto, standing at her back door, his lackeys, blocking her way out of the backyard, and realized she was cornered.

She began to laugh.

Otto raised one eyebrow. "You are remarkably unconcerned, for your position, madam."

Rachel shook her head. "I suppose it's because you think you have the upper hand, here."

"We outnumber you, Mrs. Pepperjack, even _aside_ from the other tools I have at my disposal."

Rachel grinned. "You don't mind if I think aloud, do you?"

Otto frowned, staring at Rachel; at last, he nodded. "Do whatever you like."

"Now, I haven't heard of anything like this happening to Barbara Lake, Ophelia Nuñez, Nancy Domzalski. And I think it's because you feel threatened by my son. And that makes me think...you've noticed things about him. You might have thought it was luck, once, but he's evaded one too many hostile spells, survived one too many situations, maybe done one or two things you think are impossible." Rachel paused, clicked her tongue. "And because you're an intelligent man, or have intelligent people working for you, you came to the conclusion that such incredible resilience when faced with magical assault can only come from someone whose grandparent, or great-grandparent, or great-great-grandparent, was a dragon.

"And with someone your mistress herself cannot touch, you thought to secure leverage. You came to my house to threaten me, kidnap me, maybe brainwash me, so you could use me to control my son."

Otto's frown gave way to his sharp grin. "You are quite astute, Mrs. Pepperjack. Yes, we are here to apply...pressure, because there are few ways to apply pressure to your son."

Rachel clicked her tongue. "I must say I'm disappointed."

"Why? Did you think we were 'better' than that? We are a society of spies, assassins, and saboteurs. Kidnapping and torture is our stock and trade."

"Oh, I expected no better from you on that end," Rachel retorted. "I just hoped you would have been _smart_ about it. Because from where I'm standing, you've made three fundamental errors."

"We have you _cornered_ , Mrs. Pepperjack," Otto snarled, taking a menacing step forward.

But Rachel pulled herself up to her full height, refusing to let this man intimidate her. "Your first is coming here in daylight, with only two changelings in tow. You should have done this when you could have brought more _muscle_ with you."

"Three on one, Mrs. Pepperjack, is more than enough."

"Your second is presuming this house has no protection," Rachel continued.

"Do you think we came here without determining there were no wards, Mrs. Pepperjack? I grow tired of your posturing."

"Your third is the _false_ premise on which you have based this assault."

"Do not try to claim we are _wrong_ about your son's ancestry - we are _quite certain_ of it."

Rachel shook her head. "I don't mean to suggest Elijah carries no draconic blood; it is too late to credibly claim otherwise. I mean you have underestimated him, thinking his heritage is merely one-sixteenth, one-eighth, or even one-fourth that of a dragon." And she gave Otto a bright, sweet smile. And she took a breath, not from her diaphragm, but from somewhere deeper inside. "And you have made the _grave_ error in assuming that heritage comes from his _father_. _Fus Ro Dah_!"

And with those words, Otto, his lackeys, and even the fence behind them, were hurled backward, propelled by the strength of Rachel's spirit.

\---

"The Sleeping God has stolen our homes from us. Let us strike back. Let us take something of _his_."

Naior looked to Rowan, face pinched, pained. "This message has been spreading through our territory, fomenting _rebellion_. We were supposed to have _broken their spirits_."

Rown shrugged. "Speakers possess great ability to influence others. They are not infallible."

"Not like the Sleeping God?"

"The Sleeping God is not infallible," Rowan said, mild. "He would not sleep were there not some power that was able to contest him. He would not use _us_ as his hands were he capable of securing his eternal empire on his own."

"Ah-" Naior gave Rowan a wavering expression, as if the foundation of his world were being shaken. Rowan sighed; they forgot, sometimes, how those who had not stood in the Sleeping God's presence idolized him. _Deified_ him, though that was, they supposed, deliberate.

"Still, the uninitiated are beginning to resist. To _revolt_. Our forces are not innumerable, Rowan."

Naior must have continued speaking, but Rowan didn't hear. Because they felt it, suddenly, a pulse within their heart, a resonance echoing across a billion light years of space. Their eyes drifted upward, where it was not yet night, but with the pull on their spirit, they could have pinpointed the source of it even had they been underground.

"Rowan? Sir?"

Rowan turned to Naior, and he must have seen something of what Rowan had felt, because his peevish expression shifted to something wide-eyed, awed. Like a child who first felt the touch of faith.

"Your prayers have been answered," Rowan said, and stepped away from the edge of the balcony they had demanded for their meeting. "Come."

"What - what is happening?" Naior demanded as they hurried after Rowan. "What are you doing?"

"Tell me, what are the precepts of the Sleeping God?" Rowan asked.

"That through sacrifice, through blood, we may receive the blessing of the Sleeping God, including life eternal."

When no more was forthcoming, Rowan sighed. "I had hoped you would provide a more coherent response. The Sleeping God slumbers, gathering his strength, and though he sleeps, we may benefit from his wisdom, his power. But when the time is right - when the fated day comes - he will rouse from his slumber, and all who follow him will be filled with his power. Those of his followers who live will become unto _gods_ , instruments of his will."

Naior hurried after Rowan, frowning as he noted where they were headed. "Rowan, sir? Why are we going to the hangars?"

"The stars are right. The day is fast approaching when he will be roused from his slumber. You - _all_ of his disciples - will soon _know_ him as I do."

"And _you_?"

"I must go."

"S - sir?"

Rowan sighed. "Did you not _listen_? The Sleeping God is not infallible. He is not _immortal_. As he turns in his slumber, as the day of his awakening nears, his greatest servants will hear his call and return to his side. To protect him. To destroy the threats to him that yet exist."

"You mean like-"

Rowan twisted and slammed Naior into the nearest wall, feeling the pulse of life as he gasped pitifully against Rowan's grip. " _Do not speak of it_ ," they snarled.

"R - ow - an," Naior gasped.

Rowan let him drop and turned away, reclaiming their path to the hangars. It took a few moments before Naior caught up with them.

"You can't _leave_ us," Naior protested. "Even if I grow more powerful, we do not have the _manpower_ to hold the worlds we have taken."

"Didn't you listen to me?" Rowan paused in the hangar, scanning the ships until they found the perfect one. "With his awakening, the Sleeping God will fill _all_ of his followers with his power. Do you not wonder the purpose of the mausoleums? Of ensuring that every of the Sleeping God's followers, no matter how small, are preserved? I do not leave you with no assistance. _Death is but a sleep_ , Naior. And when _he_ rouses, so too will his followers." Rowan patted Naior's shoulder. "Regardless, do not worry overmuch about your success. When we defeat the final threats to his ascendance, the Sleeping God will return to these worlds. And when he does, _no power_ will be able to stand against him."


	8. Metamorphosis

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things change.

Kubo had, in his lifetime, faced many fearsome foes. Before he was fully grown, he had defeated the Garden of Eyes, the Gashadokuro, and his grandfather, wearing the form of a great wyrm.

If pressed, he might have admitted to believing these were the most fearsome things he would face in battle. That beyond the Moon King himself, there was no creature more terrible in all the world.

Kubo had _met_ dragons, guardian spirits of the rivers and seas, and though he knew them to be dangerous when roused to anger, had met none that could truly threaten him. 

Not until tonight. The creature only superficially resembled a true dragon, looking more like a winged lizard than the graceful form Kubo knew to be the shape of a proper dragon. Their face was almost equine in its shape, except for the fangs, and slitted, catlike eyes.

For their size (dozens of meters long) and strength, this might have been merely a difficult fight (Kubo was not, strictly, a warrior, though his shamisen could summon warriors to his side). But the beast's words carried a weight that other creatures' lacked - the word 'fire', spoken from their tongue, caused their voice itself to transmute into flame.

And they were here for Kubo. That much they had made clear.

"Your continued insistence on concealing yourself from me grows tiresome," the creature hissed. Their steps made the ground shake, and their breath trailed smoke behind it, though they called no flame to life with their words. They had smashed buildings in their pursuit of Kubo, though he had been able to distract the creature to allow the citizenry to escape. 

Or they were unconcerned with any creature other than their target. And it was not as if the creature was incapable of hunting down and destroying every resident of the village once they were finished with Kubo, anyway.

Kubo took a quiet breath, tightening his grip on his shamisen. He had only a few sheets of paper, barely enough to make a serious assault upon the creature - the _dragon_. The Sword Unbreakable may be able to pierce the creature's flesh, but he was uncertain the Armor Impenetrable or Helmet Invulnerable could withstand the heat of the dragon's flame - or, more specifically, if _Kubo_ could survive the heat that might not harm his armor.

But he would not be the Boy Who Tamed the Moon if he refused to act merely because his foe appeared to be invincible.

So Kubo stepped around the stone behind which he had taken refuge, Sword Unbreakable held at the ready. "Then I will grant your wish, dragon, and allow you one chance to leave before I ensure I am the _last_ creature you see."

The dragon laughed, loping forward in short bursts as they howled in amusement. " _You_? Kill _me_? You might as well say-" And the dragon _froze_ , their laughter cut off with a choked noise, as they stared at Kubo, sapphire-bright eyes tinged with veins of red. 

Feeling suddenly hopeful, Kubo took a hesitant step forward. The dragon took a hurried step back, eyes narrowing. Kubo eyed the Sword Unbreakable speculatively; he was not nearly the warrior his father had been, still preferring reaching out to others' hearts through his music to fighting, but he could wield the sword competently. 

"Where did you get that?" the dragon demanded.

"It is my father's weapon," Kubo retorted. "Now mine." He narrowed his eyes to glare back at the dragon. "You fear it."

And the dragon gave a hissing chuckle before stepping forward, moving sinuously. "A woefully uninformed guess. No, I do not fear that blade. I am no faerie, no demon, to fall to a blade of cold iron."

Kubo let his stance ease, the blade to sink a little. There were many battles he had won in this moment, by drawing his enemy into conversation rather than drawing blood. There were others he had won because his enemies allowed secrets to slip from them in conversation.

"Who _are_ you?" Kubo asked.

The dragon's chest rumbled with something like laughter. "Just because you aren't cautious enough to keep your enemies from knowing your name does not mean I _am_. You can call my _Ryuujin_ , if you like."

"You are not a humble beast, are you?"

"Why should I be? Dragons possess the greatest natural magic of any living creature, and _I_ am the greatest of them all." Ryuujin stepped closer, moving in slow, deliberate steps. They were cautious of Kubo, still, and he wondered if Ryuujin had lied about the Sword Unbreakable.

Kubo flicked the blade back up to a ready position, pointed at Ryuujin. "Don't come any closer!" he commanded.

"I _know_ you," Ryuujin all but purred as they took another step. "Kubo, usurper of the Moon King, making you Tsar Lunar the Thirteenth."

"Tsar?" The sword wavered in Kubo's grasp as he considered Ryuujin's words. The Moon King he knew, the title held by his grandfather before Kubo had returned to him his vision, allowing him to see the good in the world, alongside the evil. _Tsar Lunar_ he did not recognize, not from his mother, father, or even the mockery of his late aunts.

"The true name of the Moon King," Ryuujin murmured. "Yours too, I would posit." They paused, just far enough that they could not easily reach out to bite Kubo, and their mouth twisted into a smile. "But you are ignorant of your heritage, your history. You do not know what you hold, or who my master is. Still…"

"Kubo!"

Ryuujin's eyes glowed with unholy glee, lunging forward to charge past Kubo. He struck at the dragon with the Sword Unbreakable, but Ryuujin had not lied, as the blade scored along their scales, but did not otherwise harm the creature.

So Kubo could only watch, helpless, as Ryuujin descended upon Kubo's grandfather, who carried a battered sword in a misguided attempt to aid Kubo in his fight. The dragon grabbed Kubo's grandfather up in their claws, raised him high, and swiped at him. The man screamed, a pained sound, before it cut off abruptly.

Kubo stepped around the dragon cautiously, afraid to look, to even _breathe_ , for fear of what he would see.

And despite steeling himself for the worst, Kubo found himself shocked at what he saw.

His grandfather was alive, still dressed in the kimono he'd put on that morning. But he did not move with the cautious, almost apologetic steps of the kind man they had deceived him into believing he was. He stood tall, imperious, and when Kubo stepped forward, his grandfather looked at him with an empty gaze.

Not as he had looked at Kubo when he had been the Moon King, merely blind, but instead with blood running down his cheeks like tears, his eye sockets empty of any flesh, only the bloody hollows within.

"Are you still fighting for them, Kubo?" his grandfather asked, voice sad, weary. But not the voice of the man Kubo had lived with for his entire adult life, not of the kind grandfather they had made of the cruel Moon King. "Allowing the _filth_ of this imperfect world to poison you?"

"Grandfather-" Kubo began, but then the Moon King raised a hand flat, one of his eyes resting upon his palm. Kubo's voice died away, his breath choked off like that hand was grasped around his throat.

"You stand against a power you do not understand, wielding a blade to which you have no right," the Moon King snarled. " _Death_ would be a kindness."

And as the eye, ripped from the Moon King's own skull, began to glow, Kubo remembered what his grandfather had done to the last man he had wished to punish - stolen his shape and his memories - and grabbed for his shamisen, strumming a note to counter his grandfather's magic. He could not stop it, he knew, but he could blunt it. He could retain his memories, could protect a fragment of his humanity, no matter what was done to him.

He could remember the Sword Unbreakable, which Ryuujin feared, not for their sake, but for another's…

\---

When they _finally_ returned to a part of the planet that had cell service, Eli's phone lit up with three missed calls from his mother, and a text explaining she had something important to tell him when he got home.

Eli stared at the text for a few moments, because it seemed...unlike his mother. There was no demand he return immediately. No indication of something _wrong_.

It ironically made him want to go home as soon as possible.

But when Mr. Strickler parked his car outside Steve's house, the other boy grabbed at Eli's wrist. It didn't restrain him so much as making it clear Steve's hand was there.

"Can we talk?" Steve asked.

A retort relating to the fact Steve hadn't been eager to talk for at _least_ the last week died on Eli's tongue when he saw Steve's expression. He was biting at his lip (Steve did _not_ bite his lip or chew on his nails, citing 'the ladies'), ducking so he was a little closer to Eli's level, and his eyes…

Steve wasn't _crying_ , but his eyes, wide, almost chestnut-brown, were shiny, wet, anxious.

"We can't be long, Steve. I need to get home-"

"Yeah, sure, I'll be quick. Thanks, Mr. Strickler! Call us when - You Know Who - wants to talk!" Merlin had refused to initially consult with a changeling, or a non-Trollhunter; they had already dropped a sullen Toby off, the hammer he'd won off of Gruthark tight in his grip. But the wizard would obviously want to talk to them all later, at least to figure out their strengths and liabilities in trying to bring down Morgana.

But Steve wanted to talk, and Eli should at _least_ pay attention and not worry about hypothetical meetings with ancient sorcerers. So as Mr. Strickler pulled away to return to his house and probably update his people about the return of Merlin, Eli turned to Steve and tried to put on a smile.

"What do you want to talk about?"

Steve grit his teeth, scanning the street, glancing at his house, before nodding with a shark jerk of his head, grabbing Eli's arm, and tugging him toward the garage.

"Steve?" Eli demanded, hopping after the taller boy. "I don't have time-"

"I just-" Steve spun around, leaning down so he wasn't, you know, _looming_ , and gave Eli a wide-eyed look, chin actually quivering. "Do you trust me?"

It was an unfair question, because of _course_ Eli trusted Steve; their current situation was born of the growing certainty that Steve didn't trust _Eli_ \- hiding his growing discomfort by _avoiding_ him.

But _Eli_ wouldn't be the one to start lying.

"Of _course_ I do!"

"Then - come on. It won't take too long."

Steve dragged Eli onto his scooter, waiting to take off until Eli had taken an appropriately tight grip around Steve's waist. And some combination of exhaustion, fear, and irritation, meant Eli didn't realize where they were going until Steve pulled up in front of the cemetery.

"Steve?"

"Come on, we need somewhere - quiet. Secluded." Eli remained on the scooter a few moments after Steve dismounted, a little unsettled by Steve's repeat of Eli's own reasons for seeking this place out. He was, admittedly, a little hesitant to allow Steve to surprise him with a 'talk' out here. This was a refuge, and tainting it with whatever Steve was trying to tell Eli had little appeal.

"Steve-"

"Eli, _please_."

Following Steve up to Eli's tree, Eli offered a half-hearted wish he'd never followed Steve on his raid on the Order of Dawn. That he hadn't decided Steve was actually sort of sweet, and probably _wouldn't_ turn around and become a complete ass. Because he felt sort of helpless, unable to seriously believe that Steve was dragging him up here to - end their friendship or whatever, even as his heart skipped anxiously at the thought.

Eli compromised by settling his back against the tree when they reached it, folding his arms because it made him feel a little less exposed.

"So," Eli said, "what's this about?"

"Ugh," Steve grunted, running a hand through his hair. "It's like - we're friends, right?"

"I'd like to think so."

"Right. Good." Steve began walking in a tight circle, because he was a jock and didn't really know how to hold still when there was too much going on in his head. "That's - yeah, I think so, too." He grimaced, stopped, and ran his hand over his face. "Ugh, why does this have to be so _hard_?" He turned to Eli, glowering, and Eli, who'd been anxious since Steve had said they needed to talk, felt his chest ease, a little. Because this was not Steve trying to tell Eli never to talk to him again. This was Steve having no idea how to talk about important stuff.

So he decided to give Steve a little help. "What's hard, Steve?"

Steve let out a helpless laugh. "That's - I - _fuck_!" He turned his head up and just _screamed_ , a wordless cry of frustration that hopefully wouldn't get the cops called on them.

When Steve let his head drop, his eyes were a little less wild, his face eased, shoulders loose. Eli quirked a smile at him, and Steve sort of chuckled. "Better?" Eli asked.

"No," Steve muttered, but he was smiling. Not a _big_ smile, but it was there. "You're a hell of a lot cooler than I ever would have admitted to, Pepperjack, you know that?"

Eli hadn't known Steve thought that - he knew Steve sort of appreciated Eli's nerdiness, but he hadn't imagined Steve somehow thought that made Eli _cool_.

"I think being a nerd sort of precludes being 'cool'-"

"You can just take a compliment, Pepperjack," Steve said, voice a little loud, rough; it seemed to startle him, though, because he ducked his head and pulled back a little. "Because _I_ think you're pretty cool."

"O - okay." Arguing wasn't going to get them anywhere, even if Steve's insistence hadn't left Eli feeling off-balance enough that he couldn't work up an argument.

"Because I don't want you to think I'm hanging around thinking you're like some - that I'm _better_ than you. I was just freaking out because all that shit with the Nightmare King got me stuck in my head about all this _shit_ my dad - _everyone_ \- expected me to be, you know?"

Eli...did not know. But Steve did not appear to need Eli's input, as he began pacing again. "So Draal sort of yelled at me about it, and-" Steve froze, looking down at Eli, eyes like they'd been when Steve had asked Eli to make time for him.

Open.

_Vulnerable_.

"So I think I'm gay," Steve said, which even though Steve had dragged Eli out into the middle of nowhere, was rambling about what his dad had expected of him, Eli hadn't expected Steve to say _at all_.

Eli huffed out, because he hadn't been able to squash his anxiety no matter how earnest Steve had seemed, not until that confession. "Well, you're in good company. Sort of. Toby and I are - well, bisexual, I guess you know, and-"

"I really don't want to talk about Toby right now, okay?" Steve ground out, and Eli stopped, because the fists at Steve's side suggested Eli'd somehow stumbled into a sore point.

"Yeah, okay." There was quiet for a moment, and then, "Is that all? Because I'd have to be, like, the _worst_ to make fun of you or whatever about this. I mean, if you're attracted to guys, I'd have assumed you're bi, like me, but if you're sure you don't like girls-"

"Can you just sh - be quiet for a second?" Steve pled, and Eli snapped his mouth shut just out of the shock of the unexpected request.

Steve huffed a little, head bowed so he was looking at his feet; his hands were half-curled, so Eli guessed Steve wasn't on the edge of a breakdown or anything. "I just thought you needed to know that," he muttered.

"You don't need to tell _anyone_ , Steve - no one has the right to know that about you if you don't want them to-"

"I just thought you'd want to know that before I asked you if you wanted to catch a movie with me," Steve said.

Eli snorted. "You didn't drag me out here just to see if I wanted to see that dumb action movie you've been talking about, did you?"

"No, I didn't really care about which - and I - thought we could get dinner before," Steve muttered.

Eli shrugged. "I mean, that makes sense." But Steve still seemed tense, and that told Eli he was missing something.

Steve had obviously been anxious about coming out to Eli, but that somehow didn't feel like the reason Steve had dragged him up here. He'd wanted to _talk_ , and Eli had had the feeling Steve wanted to talk about something that involved _both_ of them.

Not just coming out and asking Eli…

To see a movie with him.

Get _dinner_ with him.

"Did you just ask me out on a _date_?" Eli winced at the squeak of his voice at the end of that question, because he was seventeen and should be beyond freaking out over something like that.

"It's dinner and a movie, Pepperjack, not an _execution_ ," Steve retorted, hurt underlying the apparently flippant response.

"That's not what I-" Eli stepped toward Steve, catching his hand and tugging enough that Steve raised his head, lips set in a tight, thin line, eyes narrow, suspicious. "I was surprised. I didn't think-"

"Why not? You're smart, always going on about this really interesting shit I've got like, _no_ idea about, and…" Steve ducked his head again, and Eli was close enough to see Steve's cheeks were pink, flushed. "I saw you dressed for the dance, and you - looked good. Um. Better than normal." His cheeks _darkened_ , and Eli could feel his own flushing in response, because-

Well, _Toby'd_ been adamant Eli had looked good back then, but Steve had been _holding onto that_ thought. Which, on top of the casual suggestion Eli _normally_ looked good…

It wasn't an unwelcome revelation.

"Dinner and a movie, right?" Eli asked.

Steve swallowed, giving Eli a curt nod.

And Eli felt a little bad, seeing how nervous Steve looked, basically _wrecked_ , waiting for an answer. So he grabbed the front of Steve's shirt and pulled him, unresisting, down to Eli's level. Eli pressed a quick kiss to Steve's cheek, stepping back hurriedly, cheeks burning. Steve's eyes were wide, tension given over to parted lips, a blank sort of shock.

"It's a date," Eli agreed. "Now, I think you promised you'd get me home."

\---

That first night, Jamie, Aster, and Wumpa, had debated for three hours about what to do next. Aster admittedly spent most of the conversation scanning the book, which was _his_ , and a reference manual to a distant Golden Age (in _space_ , because Aster was an _alien_ ). Wumpa confided he was looking for a way to help them defeat Morgana, an evil sorceress who wanted to destroy humanity.

"So what does Clyde Palchuk and this - Sleeping God - have to do with it?"

"Nothing," Aster replied, turning a page by tugging at it with his teeth (he had since refused three separate offers of help, suggesting it was a sore spot). "We're just running on the theory that we need to save the world from Morgana so there can be a world to save from the Sleeping God."

It made sense, a little, but Jamie was good at multi-tasking, so he could worry about Morgana _and_ the Sleeping God at the same time.

"I mean, someone still ought to be doing something about Clyde and the cultists he's got running around."

"Look, if I get a chance to spoil something they've got going on, I'll _do it_ , but the whole Sleeping God thing isn't our top priority. When the dead start walking the Earth, we can escalate the Sleeping God threat level to medium, but until then, I'm just trying to stay ahead of them and keep them from finding out I don't have the Light of Creation."

That required _another_ explanation, this of a gem that held within it the power of pure, unconstrained potential, the very essence of Shadow Magic. It brought light and life wherever it went, and was currently lost.

"And, what, you figure as long as they're chasing _you_ -"

"They won't bother looking for where it _is_ ," Aster agreed. "It's a fucking mess - if I had any idea, I'd be over there so _fast_ -"

"You need help," Jamie agreed. "I've got friends who-"

" _No_!" Aster snapped, actually snapping _very sharp teeth_ at Jamie. "You've got no way of knowing _who's_ a servant of the Sleeping God."

"How do you know _I'm_ not?"

Aster gave Jamie a dark look. "...A feeling," he muttered.

"So you can trust _your_ feelings, and I can't trust _mine_?"

Aster was quiet for a _long_ moment. "You don't mention my name. You don't say I'm a Pooka. You don't mention the Light of Creation."

"...What sort of help are we getting, if I can't use any proper nouns?"

"Better than calling the whole cult down on us," Aster grumbled.

"Still go to Arcadia, though," Wumpa said.

"...Yeah," Aster agreed. "Sleeping God or not, Morgana's got to go _down_."


	9. Counsel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Merlin is here to help.

Darci slid down in her seat on Jim's couch, resisting the urge to glower at Merlin. She wasn't certain, really, _what_ about him rubbed her the wrong way. The patronizing smile he'd given her when she'd arrived, maybe. Or the way he was directing everyone like this was _his_ show, like Jim and Toby and Claire and all of them hadn't been fighting Gunmar and his people without Merlin's help for a _year_.

And then there was the way Jim reacted to the man. The Amulet of Daylight made Jim sort of Merlin's...she didn't know, employee, unpaid intern, whatever. But he was _nervous_ around the wizard - not all the time, but sometimes seemed to jump, as if noticing Merlin for the first time.

Dr. Lake must have noticed that too, because she always seemed to be within arm's reach of Jim, closer than either Merlin or Archimedes.

In the end, Darci supposed she couldn't expect more from a fifteen-hundred-year-old man who was used to being the smartest and wisest person in the room.

He had, for example, flatly refused to meet with Bular or Mr. Strickler, allowing Blinky to attend the meeting in Jim's house only with great reluctance. It was irritating, at least in part because Aaarrrgghh had a knack for cutting through bullshit with simple questions. And Darci suspected Merlin was going to give them a lot of bullshit, or at least blather on using seven-syllable words you needed a doctorate in magic to even begin to understand, just so he could feel smart.

…

Darci had been hasty; she knew _exactly_ what about Merlin rubbed her the wrong way. He was an old man who was used to getting his own way, being catered to and humored, if not obeyed, and wasn't about to listen to a group of teenagers if they said something he didn't want to hear.

Merlin cleared his throat, and when no one responded, gave the sort of passive-aggressive 'ahem' that made Darci sort of want to hit him. Dr. Lake, Nida, and Nana Domzalski took the chairs they'd set next to the couch, and Jim settled cautiously in the chair next to his mom. Toby, Eli, and Steve were sprawled on the couch (and Mr. Macho Football Player's thigh was pressed up against Eli's, something _Mary_ , had she, like Darci, been dumb enough to willingly submit to the hour-long ode to Merlin this meeting was likely to become, would have had _thoughts_ on). And Claire was settled against the far wall, arms folded, glowering at Merlin. He'd taken one look at the Shadowstaff, hanging loose from Claire's belt, and dismissed her.

"I don't doubt you wish to help, Miss Nuñez, but you'll need a little more than errant wishes and stolen trinkets to stand against Morgana." That Claire hadn't struck Merlin down right then was a testament to her self-control, but she was clearly unimpressed.

Now, he was scanning the assembled humans (and Blinky, seated awkwardly on the floor) with an assessing air. "James has apprised me of the progress you have all made fighting against Gunmar and, now, Morgana. It is perhaps the most I could have expected from you, so...adequate work." The worst part was he probably thought that came across as a compliment. "But a master of Shadow Magic is beyond any of your skills to defeat, which means I will be assisting you in defeating Gunmar and the rest of the Gumm Gumms while I concern myself with Morgana's defeat."

Toby raised his hand; Darci fought down a grin. "You know she got the Staff of Avalon, right? That seems like a problem."

Merlin shrugged. "Not as much as you might believe. When I first developed the principles of Light Magic - spells that were unaffected by one's strength of will, or understanding of the dozens of meanings associated with a single rune - the Staff of Avalon was a...compilation of knowledge. Oh, certainly, it will gather ambient magical energy, and can tap into the leylines passing through Arcadia-" Merlin paused, raising his own hand. "This may be a problem." Darci rolled her eyes. "Oh, Morgana is unlikely to use the _knowledge_ in the Staff of Avalon, but the magical power it can accumulate is not insignificant."

"We're not exactly powerless, here," Jim replied. "I don't know if Claire really explained what she did - she stole control of the Skathe-Hrün from Morgana, so it's lost all ties to her. And Toby's got like these cool gravity powers-"

"Such inherited gifts are hardly an effective tool in combating a _sorceress_ ," Merlin retorted, "and while Miss Nuñez's skills with Shadow Magic are quite advanced, they are _much_ too unpredictable to be an asset in our struggles."

"I'm half-dragon," Eli offered, and _that_ , at least, shut Merlin up.

Because.

What.

The.

Fuck.

"What," Jim said, because there were no other words. And at least everyone else seemed confused, because Darci wouldn't know how to feel if she were the last one to hear about this.

( _Steve_ didn't look confused, but Darci was pretty sure at this point that Steve was a special case, when it came to Eli.)

"When you say 'half-dragon'," Toby tried, at last, "What exactly are we talking, here?"

"Um." Eli ducked his head, as if he found everyone's curiosity about _what the hell he meant_ when he said he was _half-dragon_ surprising. He glanced up at Steve, giving the other boy a weak grin (as if _Steve_ were better at explaining stuff than Eli, which was a whole other level of Freaky Friday bullshit). "It means my mom's...sort of a dragon."

"...How can you be 'sort of' a dragon?" Jim asked. "Like, I think that should be one of those things that's pretty easy to tell, one way or another."

Eli shrugged. "I mean...she can make herself _look_ human, but she's really a six-hundred-year-old fire-breathing flying lizard."

"Wait," Darci said, because her brain just kept sparking around parts of this, trying to find a point of stability, "Did you like hatch from an _egg_?"

"Oh god," Eli moaned, "this is _exactly_ why I didn't want to talk about this."

...It wasn't a _no_ , and-

"Oh my god do you have baby pictures somewhere?" Toby demanded. "Like, little baby lizard Eli?"

Eli ducked his head into Steve's chest, clearly using the other boy as a shield from the interrogation, "Tobyyyyy."

"Ahem." Merlin was scowling at them when they turned their attention away from Eli. "As fascinating as this exploration of the intricacies of cross-species reproduction _is_ , it is not strictly relevant to the task at hand."

"Which is detailing our assets," Jim said. "Which include, apparently, a dragon who has a curfew."

"Hm," Merlin replied. "Not nearly as valuable as you imply, but hardly a liability." He waved a hand, causing a black pane to appear in the air next to him. A small cylinder like chalk appeared and began writing on the pane as he spoke. "As _I_ will handle Morgana, _your_ concern is defeating Gunmar and his generals. Bular, of course-"

"Has defected from his father's side," Blinky said. "As has Aaarrrgghh - Aarghaumont of the Krubera."

"However, the Krubera as a _whole_ have joined Gunmar. Hardly an equivalent trade." The dismissive tone in Merlin's voice set Darci further on edge; it got to Blinky, too, if the way his eyes narrowed at Merlin. "In fact, the only bright point I can see is that the Volcanic Trolls and Yeti have not joined Gunmar."

"Plus, we've got Mr. Strickler and the rest of the defectors from the Janus Order," Eli added.

Merlin's lips thinned into a tight line and his blue eyes flashed dangerously. "Relying on Morgana's own creations to defeat her? I would...rather not."

And at that, Dr. Lake stood, gaze like ice, fists white at her side. Darci had found it difficult to look Merlin in the eyes (she wondered if it was something like the glamour they said Morgana had), but Dr. Lake glared, unflinching at him. "Walter Strickler has been nothing but a friend and ally to this family, to the _Trollhunter_ , your own soldier in this war. I trust him _implicitly_ \- more than I do _you_ , at the very least."

"I hope you do not come to regret that."

Dr. Lake's lips quirked into a sneer, but she dropped back into her seat without another word. Merlin waited a moment, as if to see if there would be any other outbursts; when there were none, he pressed forward.

"I do wish we had more time. There are tools we might be able to gather if we had the time-"

"What do you mean, _time_?" Steve demanded. "We don't know what Morgana's even _up_ to-"

"Biding her time," Merlin replied. "Her army of trolls will not rise so long as the sun shines-"

"We _know_ that, but why do you think we don't have time?" Toby asked.

Merlin sighed. "Have none of you _thought_? Certain meaningful dates empower magic - All Hallows Eve and Walpurgisnacht, Equinoxes, _Solstices_."

"The winter solstice is in like two weeks," Claire said, quiet.

"And when else would it be best to bring about Night Eternal?" Merlin demanded. "If we had the time to find the-" He glanced at Claire, or, more correctly, at the _Shadowstaff_ , "Light of Creation, we might be able to bolster our offenses to the point that even Miss Nuñez could be a threat to Morgana."

Darci saw Eli's head jerk up, one hand fumbling at Steve's shoulder. He'd been _looking_ for the Light, Darci remembered. If they'd had a better lead, she wondered, if they'd worked together, was it possible they could have found the Light of Creation before now, that Merlin could have used it to help them stop Morgana?

"So...what are we supposed to do?" Jim asked. "You're making it sound like it's hopeless."

" _Especially_ given that prophecy about Gunmar," Claire said. "There's this whole list of what _can't_ kill him, and since that involves _weapons_ and _magic_ , _I'm_ out of ideas."

"Grendel, too," Eli added. "Only a true hero's supposed to be able to kill him, and we've got no idea if that applies now that he's a zombie."

"We're _fucked_ ," Steve grumbled. "Uh. Sorry, Dr. Lake."

"No, I think that might be an entirely appropriate assessment of our situation. Unless you have any bright ideas."

Merlin shot Dr. Lake a glare, eyes narrowed, and it was probably lucky he didn't have, like, laser eyes, or he probably would have incinerated her on the spot. "Do you?"

Darci had been to, like, three PTA meetings, and the level of petty passive-aggression in the room was like, only a couple of degrees less severe than what those meetings had been like. Regardless, it was clearly some sort of weird power play-

"Huh."

Dr. Lake, at least, looked to Darci. "Darci? What-"

"Power plays," Darci said. " _Politics_."

Merlin raised one eyebrow. "I'm afraid you'll need _verbs_ to explain what your 'idea' is." Either they'd had sarcastic finger quotes back in the Middle Ages, or Merlin had had access to some knowledge of popular culture during his time asleep. Either way, Darci sort of wanted to slap him.

"The Krubera are with Gunmar because Queen Usurna joined him. Whoever's running the Quagawumps deposed Wumpa."

Merlin rolled his eyes. "Yes, I am aware. What is your point?"

"We've got Queen Usurna's nephew on our side," Darci said. "We've got a guy who's convinced a _lot_ of trolls he's the reincarnation of the Quagawump's king."

Jim and Eli both bolted up in their seats.

"No," Jim snapped.

"Yes," Eli breathed out, a little awed.

"You intend to send your friends into the camps of your enemies, in the hopes you can _convince them_ to join you?"

Merlin was _glowering_ , and a few minutes ago, it might have made Darci quail and be unwilling to face him down.

But _Dr. Lake_ wasn't afraid of him. And for all his bluster and glare, Merlin was an old white guy running around pretending he knew what was best for everyone despite not knowing _anything_.

So Darci stood and met Merlin's gaze, even, cool, unwilling to let him see he flustered her at all. "Well, since I didn't hear _you_ come up with any bright ideas, I figured it was better than nothing."

Merlin jerked his head away first, stalking to Jim's chair; he grabbed Jim's shoulder and tugged him up. "Come on, Trollhunter. We have matters to discuss while your friends plot this folly."

Merlin may have wanted to make it seem like he had better things to do, but it was clearly a retreat. And not, Darci guessed, because he thought it would ruin his chances to defeat Morgana (she was certain he wouldn't let them do anything that might interfere with _his_ plan), but because he was irritated Darci had come up with it first.

\---

Krel was glaring at his phone when a knock came at the door to his room. He didn't answer, not willing to continue the argument they'd had over lunch, and, he had to admit, a little concerned. Jamie hadn't been… _silent_ over the past week, but he'd dropped off the Weird and Unexplained server, and responded to direct messages with curt replies. He'd replied, once, he was on data, which was...almost an explanation.

But he also wasn't great at keeping secrets (one reason why Krel went by 'Cole' and scrupulously avoided mention of anything that might hint he was an alien), and Krel was pretty certain Jamie was in trouble. But that left him with little he could do; Krel didn't know where Jamie lived, or how to get there. 

"Okay, you are clearly sulking, but we are _talking_ about this."

Krel glared up at Aja, who had apparently sweet-talked the computer into letting her bypass the lock on his bedroom door. She glared back with equal ferocity, arms crossed, and Krel felt a wave of weariness.

"What's there to talk about?"

"Toby," Aja said. "This world's in _danger_ , and you think we should _leave it alone_?"

"I don't-" Krel sighed, running a hand through his hair, the other still clutched around his phone. "Vex made sure I knew what was happening with the Cult of the Sleeping God, and...this is something they'd do. Use the shadow of another threat to move into position while their enemies are focused on _that_. So, yeah, I guess I want to leave it alone. Because _we can't afford to be distracted_."

Aja grunted and fell back on Krel's bed; he didn't bother looking, but heard a shifting of cloth that suggested she'd curled up there. "This sucks," she muttered.

"Everything's sucked for ages," Krel retorted.

"What are we supposed to do?" Aja asked, quiet. "We just found him; _he's_ just found _us_."

Krel stared at his phone for only a moment longer before locking it and setting it aside. "Have faith he can do this."

" _No_."

"What?" Krel spun his chair around, and there was Aja, kneeling on his bed, back straight, eyes fierce.

" _No_. We're not leaving Earth on its own. We're not leaving _Toby_ on his own."

"He's got Jim," Krel pointed out, "and all his other…'Trollhunters'."

" _And he's supposed to have us_!" Aja screamed. 

Glowering at Krel, breathing hard, she must have noticed when his gaze darted to his phone, because she launched herself off the bed and grabbed at it before settling herself on Krel's desk. And because she was a _nosy jerk_ , she unlocked it. When she saw the last messages Krel had sent to Jamie, something in her furious expression faded. Softened. She looked up at Krel; he shifted uncomfortable under that gaze.

"We don't have to let them suffer," she murmured.

"What can we do?" Krel demanded. "I don't know about trolls, and Jamie won't tell me what's going on with him, and El-" He choked, suddenly, at a realization he should have had _ages_ ago.

"I've been talking to _Elijah Pepperjack_ ," he muttered.

"And he's been calling himself Jamie?"

"No, there's a guy named 'El' on here-"

"I got it." Aja was silent for a moment as she flipped over to _those_ messages. "That is _definitely_ Elijah." She hummed, a thoughtful noise. "You think Jamie's in trouble."

"I thought you wanted to talk about the - trolls and everything?"

"You're _worried_ about your _friend_ ," Aja retorted, and then made a startled squeak.

Krel turned his head around to look up at Aja. "What?"

"He's used 'we' a couple of times. He's with someone. On data - he's not at home, and not near a lot of wifi hotspots. He's on the run."

Krel grabbed at his phone; Aja relinquished it without complaint while Krel scanned through it. "How did you-"

"Come on, he'd tell you if his parents took him to Disneyland or something, right? So he's unexpectedly spending a lot of time that's off the grid. And you said he's, like a _fan_ of weird creatures like aliens. He's _hiding_ someone - doing the whole E.T. thing."

Krel was torn between abject _awe_ at Aja's deductions, and a panicked flutter at the thought of Jamie on the run from _something_.

He stared down at his phone, at the last few exchanges he'd had with Jamie.

"I've got an idea," Aja said, pulling the phone back. When she handed it back, there was a sent message on the screen.

'Where are you trying to get your friend? I want to help.'

Aja let the matter of the trolls, and Morgana, and the end of the world, drop, then, and later left a tray of dinner on Krel's desk.

And at three in the morning (an odd time for a human to be up, especially one who was supposed to be in school), Krel got a response.

'His name is Aster. He's a Pooka. And we're more worried about…'away', than 'to'.'

The Pooka were extinct, exterminated during the last days of the Golden Age. But Krel had met one, a master Blood Mage in the service of the Cult of the Sleeping God. And when they'd arrived on Earth, finding flowers sharing the same names as legendary Pooka mentioned in tales about the Golden Age…

Krel had actually considered this the least likely option.

He stared at the message for an hour, trying to formulate a response. His first, the flare of fear that the Sleeping God's Pooka sage had followed them to Earth, was foolish; if they were here, they'd have already toppled human society and started the bloody rule of the Cult's theocracy. The second, the third, were all stupid, made him sound like an overexcited _kid_.

But once he'd worked through those responses, Krel began to _think_.

That while humans probably weren't above kidnapping talking rabbit-like aliens to perform horrible experiments on them, there were other, more worrying possibilities.

'Away from Pitch? Or someone else?'

\---

Aster had been perched on the windowsill of their hotel room since they'd checked in early that morning, nose quivering anxiously whenever Jamie checked on him. It was nearing sunset, and Jamie was still trying to figure out how to tell Aster about the message he'd gotten from Cole. He was half-inclined to wait until they were on the road.

"Is something wrong? Like, aside from everything else that's wrong?"

Aster snorted. "Lots."

Jamie ran a couple of possibilities through his head before deciding he was going to just have to ask. "Which means…"

"We should stay put tonight," Aster replied.

Aster did not seem inclined to explain, so Jamie sighed. "Is there a particular _reason_ we shouldn't leave?"

"We're in werewolf country," Aster replied, which was fair, even though Jamie hadn't ever seen evidence of coherent werewolf communities. "Which means the Moon King can do something about it if he sees us."

Jamie opened his mouth, let it close, and considered his next words. If he were someone else, he'd protest that there was no way the Moon King was real. But while Jamie didn't necessarily believe in every myth or legend he ran across, he wasn't about to dismiss anything out of hand, no matter how weird.

So yeah, if the Moon King, as portrayed in the fairy tale 'The Minstrel and the Two Strings', was real, he would _definitely_ be something to worry about. But the whole _point_ of the story had been the minstrel giving the Moon King one of his eyes and making him normal. Mortal.

"Correct me if I'm wrong, but wasn't he sort of, fixed, or whatever?"

Aster snorted. "Clyde Palchuk isn't the Sleeping God's only servant on Earth. If the Moon King regained his memories, but retained his sight, he would have been a danger to the Sleeping God. So they _ripped_ his eyes out, and with his _daughters_ dead, he made a new breed of servant."

Talking to Aster was an education in the supernatural by itself, the way he sometimes tossed out tidbits like that. Like, for example, the suggestion that the Moon King could control werewolves (legend said the Moon King could see anything touched by the moon's light, of course, so Aster's concern that the Moon King might see them if they went outside wasn't a surprise).

"So, are there like, werewolves out there right now?"

"No," Aster muttered, narrowing his eyes. "Something _else_."

He refused to elaborate, which required a change in subject. Unfortunately, since that change in subject was about a relative stranger asking about Aster's identity, it meant starting a three-hour argument, with Wumpa joining in halfway through when she woke up.

"He knows _something's_ up!" Jamie argued. "And he's my _friend_!"

"How do you know he isn't a servant of the Sleeping God? Or a - trophy hunter! You told me you're not even sure 'Cole' is his real name!"

Jamie grit his teeth and grabbed Aster, dropping him onto Jamie's bed. When the Pooka honked, irritated at him, Jamie bent down to meet his eyes. "Cole is my friend. I trusted my gut when I decided Sergeant Palchuk was bad news. I trusted my gut when I talked to you instead of _bolting_. So I figure I get at least one pass in trusting someone you don't think I should."

Aster didn't talk for a minute or so; Jamie was almost certain the Pooka was giving him the silent treatment before Aster growled. "Go ahead."

And Aster might have agreed to let Cole know the situation, but it was tense, waiting for a response, especially once Aster returned to the window looking for the werewolf or whatever who was spying on them.

And then when Jamie got the reply-

"Who's Pitch?"

Aster scrambled to shove Jamie's phone off his lap and stare at it himself rather than respond, silent for another long minute.

"Cole's an alien," Aster concluded. "Tell him the Sleeping God's after us."

\---

Things were going _well_. With a changeling as Morgana's right-hand troll, the Gumm Gumms were hesitant to throw around words like 'impure'. The Janus Order's operatives were finalizing the plans that would throw humanity into chaos as Morgana led trollkind against them.

And Otto almost had a handle on keeping the spirit of the Archmage from making too much trouble, meaning he would soon be able to use the Amulet of Midnight with no fear of consequence.

But the universe, it seemed, had a keen sense of timing, sweeping in just when Otto had things together, to send it all to _shit_.

The call from Teresa wasn't, itself, worrying. Her breathless voice when Otto answered, however, was.

"Teresa? What's wrong?"

"We got a call from Scotty, in the UN this morning. He'd lost control over his form, was stuck as a troll."

It was a...setback, certainly, but there were three operatives who worked in UN headquarters alone, so hardly catastrophic. "Calm down, Teresa. There are other operatives who can pick up the slack-"

"There aren't," Teresa said.

"What, all of our UN operatives are stuck as humans?"

"No. I mean, yes. But that's not what I meant."

Otto felt a clutch of worry in his chest. "What _did_ you mean?"

"We've been checking in all day, Otto. Every branch, every office. We had to know the extent of the problem before we came to you. To Morgana."

" _What is happening_?"

"We haven't found a single member of the Order who's still able to take their human form."

\---

Stricklander was not a morning person (it came from being nocturnal, he suspected). So he could be forgiven for taking some time to notice some things after waking up.

Still, until he accidentally bit through his toothbrush, Stricklander failed to notice he'd somehow changed shape in the middle of the night. He scowled at his reflection, flat nose, wide mouth, _green_ , and shifted, because he had a _job_ to get to, and being a human was a fairly implicit requirement of it.

...Or, he _tried_ to change.

" _Fuck_."


	10. Changes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Two fights and two revelations.

Ten days before the end of the world, Aaarrrgghh descended alone into the darkest depths of the earth to duel his aunt. He went alone, because only a Krubera troll could survive the pressure of the world in which the Krubera made their home.

Aaarrrgghh had no illusions about what would happen to him if he failed; it had prompted three separate conversations with people who wanted him to stay, even knowing why it had to be done, and why Aaarrrgghh had to be the one to do it.

Ironically, the conversation with Bular had been the hardest, Bular unwilling to accept that Usurna would have no choice but to accept a challenge from Aaarrrgghh. Aaarrrgghh understood; raised by Gunmar, having never _met_ Usurna, he believed her to be ruthless and treacherous, like his own father. But Aaarrrgghh knew better, even if he couldn't convince Bular otherwise.

Usurna relied on her people believing her to be wise, perceptive, all but infallible. She relied on a projection of strength, not _physical_ , as Gunmar did, but emotional, intellectual, _prophetic_. Following a troll with such keen vision was an _honor_.

But Aaarrrgghh was her nephew, of royal blood, and so when he arrived in the Deep Caves, he was not slaughtered or placed under arrest (though half a dozen Krubera warriors settled around Aaarrrgghh while someone rushed to contact Usurna; they watched him anxiously, as if uncertain what to do).

Aaarrrgghh didn't try to speak to them; aside from the certainty they had orders not to listen to him, he wasn't the orator of the Trollhunters. Instead, he sat down and tried to _see_.

He did not see the vast sweep of the future, as Usurna did. He barely _saw_ the future, as the Krubera were meant to. Normally, he had feelings - little more than hunches. Sometimes he merely _knew_ things. 

The warriors surrounding Aaarrrgghh abruptly sank to their knees, and Aaarrrgghh stood, turning to the queen of the Krubera.

"I see the prodigal has returned," Usurna said, sneering. "Although some might say this is too little, and too late. You refused to return at my command, staying with the troll you say you love. And now, when Morgana stands at the cusp of victory, you return, and do not even show me the respect you owe to your sovereign."

"Do not come as your _subject_ ," Aaarrrgghh retorted. "Come as _royal family_. _Equals_."

"Equals? You are not of our people - you are an exile, of your own choice!"

"Still your _nephew_. Still _royal_. Still have right to the throne."

Usurna stared at Aaarrrgghh for a long moment before throwing her head back, laughing. "Did you come here to _challenge_ me?"

Aaarrrgghh straightened, letting his hands stay open, unthreatening. And he met Usurna's eyes with his own. Her eyes were narrow, gaze steady, fierce, and for a moment, Aaarrrgghh's courage failed him.

Before he realized…

She was trying to stare him down. To frighten him. If she knew, _for certain_ , that he couldn't beat her, she wouldn't bother. It would be better to proclaim her eventual victory and revel in the boost to her reputation for her keen vision.

"No. I have come to _replace_ you."

There was a ritual to this, a duel between two members of Krubera royalty. There were meant to be as many witnesses as could be gathered. They were to be stripped of any magical device that they might use to influence their opponent, or the audience.

Aaarrrgghh did not _carry_ any such magic - he couldn't stomach a phylactery crafted from even the most wicked soul, and relied on Blinky for any other magic necessary for their endeavors. But as they stripped Usurna of strange trinkets, replaced her dress with a cloth tunic, she gave Aaarrrgghh a wicked smile.

"You will take my every adornment, and allow him that...bracer?"

Aaarrrgghh's hand jumped to his left wrist, clamped around the bracelet encircling it. Blinky had given it to him, citing...well, to some degree, Aaarrrgghh's declaration before Vendel, Usurna, and Gatto had settled certain things. But humans had some good ideas, and...well, it was a promise.

"Not magic."

"He is a traitor and an exile - we cannot take him at his _word_." Usurna's vicious smile made it clear she didn't believe her own words, but wanted to unnerve Aaarrrgghh.

To _hurt_ him.

When all was done, Usurna turned to the gathered Krubera, eyes alight. "Aarghaumont has come to unseat your _queen_. An upstart, an exile, who has rejected my guidance, my wisdom, in favor of his own childish notions. Though he is of our blood, and though he has suffered greatly, he knows nothing of our people, knows nothing of our beliefs, of the traditions that have carried us through the millennia. And with this, he would overturn I, who have guided you according to our traditions and my own sight for centuries."

"Do not need to take over Krubera if Krubera turn against Morgana."

Usurna shook her head, sharp gaze giving way to a gentle smile. "You see? Aarghaumont does not understand the history that has led us to our alliance with Morgana, instead demanding we abandon it!"

"Why...ally with Morgana?"

"Our people are dying, Aarghaumont," Usurna replied. "You know this, I am certain. And as we weaken, humanity, thriving, has turned their destructive attentions to the world itself. In time, both of our races will be extinct, and this world with it."

Aaarrrgghh frowned at Usurna's words. Of _course_ he knew trollkind was going extinct; their decline was the reason for the birth of the Gumm Gumms. And he'd spent enough time around Toby and Elijah to understand how humans were wrecking the planet.

"But Morgana wreck the planet _faster_."

"Of _course_ she will!" Usurna hissed. "It is impossible to know how long we have before humanity destroys this planet. But if Morgana blots out the sun…" She took a deep breath, eyes closed, and when they opened, she looked calm. At peace. " _Fimbulwinter_. The preamble to _Ragnarok_ \- the end of the world."

Around Aaarrrgghh, other Krubera were nodding; they had, it seemed, heard this before.

"Ragnarok will wipe this world _clean_ \- and from the ashes, a new one will be born."

Aaarrrgghh grumbled, an odd, tense uneasiness in his chest. Of course, if Usurna had seen the destruction of the world, there was no questioning it. But to seek to destroy it _first_ -

There was a _human_ word for that.

" _Pessimist_ ," Aaarrrgghh grumbled.

"Excuse me?" Usurna demanded.

" _No_ ," Aaarrrgghh retorted. "Not excuse. You think bad thing inevitable, so you make _worse_ one."

"It does not take a Krubera's vision to know what course the world is taking!" Usurna snapped. "It is _better_ to create a foundation for the next world than to allow this one to be _murdered_!"

Aaarrrgghh couldn't argue with another's vision, but-

Usurna hadn't _said_ she had seen humanity destroying the world. But it was hard to believe she wished to destroy the world _herself_ for no reason.

" _Selfish_ , then," Aaarrrgghh said, earning a vicious glare from Usurna. "Decide what to do, without any discussion. Keep secret _real_ reason for Ragnarok."

"Do not accuse me of _selfishness_!" Usurna snarled. "Your time among those - mongrels and - _humans_ \- has made you forget what your time among the Gumm Gumms should have taught you. Trolls are not _democrats_ ; they are meant to be _ruled_. The wisdom, the _foresight_ of their leaders, should be enough! And those leaders must bear the responsibility of the decisions needed to provide that rule!"

Aaarrrgghh growled, a sound that could once terrify hardened warriors into submission. But Usurna, he was certain, knew he would not hurt her, and didn't even flinch. In fact, her expression was sharp, dismissive, like Aaarrrgghh was a recalcitrant whelp.

He paused, peering at the Krubera Queen, something odd tugging at his mind. Something about children-

 _Students_.

"Gumm Gumms should have taught me," Aaarrrgghh said slowly.

"What?" Usurna demanded.

Aaarrrgghh looked at Usurna, at his _aunt_ , the uneasy feeling in his chest like a fist around his heart. "You say - I should learn from Gumm Gumms. I was...kidnapped. Hostage. _Brainwashed_."

"Of _course_ you were, but that does not mean you could not learn something from them!"

There was a strange expression in Usurna's eyes, wide and wavering.

 _Uncertain_.

Aaarrrgghh took a shuddering breath, finding himself uncertain, as well. Because for all his bluster, he had not come here knowing he would win - only the certainty that there existed _one_ future where he was victorious.

"If you say there is _no_ future where you turn from Morgana, and the world is safe," Aaarrrgghh said, at last, "I will go."

He'd hoped for Usurna to admit there was some chance of success; at worst, he expected her to claim there was _no chance_. Aaarrrgghh didn't expect for Usurna's eye to twitch, or for her lips to twist to bare her fangs. "You're just like your _father_!" she growled. "Latching onto the smallest chances, the most unlikely futures, wasting all of you time pursuing _useless dreams_! I thought Gunmar would beat that out of you, but instead you're chasing your love for a _Galadrigal_ , and begging me for a _fragment_ of **hope**!"

When Usurna fell silent, panting heavily, Aaarrrgghh realized the cavern around them was silent, as well. He could barely hear a breath from their observers, who had been muttering throughout the debate.

He scanned their audience, looking for some sign of what had happened, and saw…

Some were looking at him with pity, and others at Usurna with-

Disbelief. Anger. _Hatred_.

Aaarrrgghh didn't understand - he hadn't said anything-

But Usurna had.

"You thought _Gunmar_ \- Gunmar _kidnapped_ me."

"Of course-" Usurna began.

"You hated my father. Wanted me to be _different_ than him," Aaarrrgghh mused. "So." He stepped closer to Usurna, who-

Took a step back. _Afraid_.

"Tell me. Did you ask him to take me...or just not bother to get me back?"

"I-"

"What about my mother? Your _sister_?"

" _My_ sister _died_ in that raid!" a warrior cried from the sidelines.

"My brother was taken!"

And then Usurna's fear wasn't focused solely on Aaarrrgghh, who she _knew_ wouldn't hurt her.

"My subjects-" Usurna started.

" _ **No**_ ," Aaarrrgghh snarled. "Not your subjects. Vendel say - duty of subjects is to obey. Duty of leader is to be _worth obeying_. When sacrifice _own people_ , call trying to help save them _useless_ \- cannot be queen! Can only be _traitor_." There were angry shouts from the assembled, cries for _vengeance_.

But when Aaarrrgghh held out a hand, they fell silent. " _Exile_ ," he declared. "Go to Morgana. Tell her you _fail_. Maybe she is merciful."

No voice rose in Usurna's defense, no gaze met her own as she turned, but no hand reached out to strike her. Because there were only two royal Krubera left, and one of them was unfit to be their sovereign. And Aaarrrgghh had proven himself _worth obeying_.

...It took a moment for Aaarrrgghh to realize that made him the Krubera _King_. And there were important things that had to be done.

"Call back Krubera warriors sent to Morgana," he ordered. And as he saw a dozen Krubera warriors scramble off to obey his commands, Aaarrrgghh added, "And give me back engagement ring."

\---

Seven days before the end of the world, Toby and Bular went to Florida, but _not_ to Disney World. There had been some debate on who should join Toby in trying to turn the Quagawumps. Merlin had vociferously objected to any suggestion that Jim leave Arcadia Oaks (Toby had a sneaking suspicion Merlin's objection was to the _Amulet of Daylight_ leaving Arcadia Oaks). _Aaarrrgghh_ had objected to Steve or Eli going, and there'd been a fire in his eyes when he said so, so neither of them had argued. And then Bular had suggested joining Toby.

"We are not going to _talk_ ," Bular growled. "The Quagawumps do not change leaders by _debate_ or _consensus_. They _know me_."

It was good point, even if riding the Gyre alongside someone who'd tried to kill Jim set Toby's nerves on edge. Toby watched the troll's right arm, adamant inlaid with gold and other metals, and the hand tapping on the inside wall of the Gyre, rather than look at Bular's face.

Bular grunted, and Toby flinched away, staring down at his own hands, at the hammer held in his lap. It was a little big, but more like it was made for a full-grown man, a large one, maybe, but not as big as a troll. It hadn't been made for Gruthark; it seemed certain Gruthark had wielded it as a mark of pride for felling whoever carried it before. It was heavier than it looked, although it was possible that was because it was made of some magical metal or something, something silvery that darkened in the sunlight, with veins of something that looked like crystal within it.

"Do you know why I agreed to join Stricklander?" Bular asked.

Toby jumped, a little. When he looked up at Bular, it was to see orange eyes watching him...thoughtfully. Not twisted into a scowl, fangs not bared...he didn't look much different from Aaarrrgghh. He _did_ , of course, objectively, but stripped of the rage instilled by Gunmar's teaching, Bular looked like Aaarrrgghh did - a little uncertain, but also...driven. And Toby realized, even without hearing it, that Bular had found something to hold onto.

"No."

"When Stricklander...found me, his offer had...coercion in it. I was near death, had _failed_ in my mission. I had no other options. I spent a great deal of time thinking about your friends - the Trollhunter...and the dragon. About _you_. Why did the Trollhunter command one as cunning as Elijah Pepperjack? Why did _you_ stand at his defense?"

"Because we're friends?"

Bular snorted. " _Friends_. Yes. A _weakness_." The Gyre slammed to a stop, but Bular made no move to rise. "It seemed _unfair_ , that my enemy was allowed to be _weak_ and _defeat me_ , while I had to be _strong_ and still lose."

"So you wanted… _friends_?"

"I wanted my _brother back_!" Bular dropped his head, snuffling, and for a moment, Toby was worried Bular was crying and Toby would have to _comfort_ him. "And then one thing led to another, and…"

"You got roped into changeling movie nights? It's the classic 'grumpy troll' redemption story."

"Movie _what_?" Bular scowled, but the expression lacked the heat Toby would expect from a murderous troll. It shifted after a moment, eyes softening, mouth flattening. "Changelings are...strange, and Stricklander's people are odd even for _them_."

"You _like_ them!" Toby crowed, and was graced with an image he would treasure for the _rest of his life_ \- Bular, bloodthirsty warrior, _blushing_ as his skin somehow _darkened_.

"That is immaterial-"

"No, it isn't! That's the whole _point_! You made _friends_ -"

"Zelda is a _job_ , and Frederick is an _annoyance_."

It was hilarious, because Bular sounded so grumpy to be called out like that. This was not, however, the time for that sort of discussion.

"So...your brother's talking to you, you got neat changeling friends-" (although _that_ was a mess; Mr. Strickler was on sabbatical until they could track down a Glamour Mask so he could at least _look_ human)

"And now we're going to seize control of the Quagawumps," Bular replied, clambering out of the Gyre.

And Toby _loved_ Aaarrrgghh, but the dude was basically a big puppy, intimidating only to people who didn't know him. And since Toby's other friends were mostly human, with even the _non-humans_ looking like scrawny teenage humans, he was not used to entering a room (clearing) and immediately commanding attention.

But when Bular the Grumpy Asshole entered a room, snarling like he would rip your arm off and pick his teeth with it, every eye went to him. The eyes of dozens of Quagawumps, armed to the teeth (well, holding spears, and scimitars, and wearing spiky armor they had _not_ had when they were defending their homeland from the Walt Disney Corporation). Toby narrowed his eyes at one six inches taller than the rest, hair twisted into a chin-length braid, who carried a scimitar nearly twice as large as him. He twisted his face into a mocking grin when he saw Bular.

"So the Trollhunter sends his _pet_ to threaten us?" he drawled. The Quagawumps around him laughed, and Toby felt about twelve different flares of indignation.

And since because Toby had been talking to Bular wanting to have _friends_ , the first words out out his mouth were, "Bular's not a fucking _pet_! He could snap me in half like _that_ , but won't because we're _friends_!"

It was probably a little much (Toby couldn't recall exchanging two words with Bular before today that didn't involve Bular ripping the flesh from his bones), but Toby wasn't going to let anyone badmouth his...allies. At Toby's shout, though, every eye drifted to him, and the Quagawumps fell silent.

And Toby remembered why they'd sent _him_.

"Remember me?" he asked.

The awed whispers in response to the question said that they _did_ , which made it easier to keep going. "Because it doesn't look like you _do_. When I was _punching Nazis_ to save your hides, it wasn't so you could turn around and genocide _humanity_!"

"You left them in the hands of _Wumpa_ ," the tall troll retorted. "When Gunmar came here, she wished the Quagawumps to _fight_. To _die_ at the hands of the Gumm Gumms in some misguided show of-"

" **Decency**!" Toby howled, swinging his hammer down to hold at the ready at his side. "She wanted you to be _good_ , and all it took was six months for you to roll over and let Gunmar do whatever he wants!" He sneered at the leader. "Who _are_ you, anyway?"

"My name is Palum, and _you are not welcome here_!" 

"I _saved your lives_!"

"And _left_."

There was a snarl behind Toby and he jumped, momentarily, at the sight of Bular behind him. The troll was scowling, and it was _not_ a merely exasperated scowl, but one that promised slow, painful, and thoroughly-calculated death. "If you believe Toby would not have ridden to your defense at a single _word_ from you, you have learned _nothing_ from him!"

Which.

 _What_?

Toby didn't know what alternate universe he'd fallen into, where _Bular the Vicious_ was defending his character. Palum seemed unimpressed, so Toby stepped forward, swinging his hammer like a baton (it was _amazingly_ well-balanced).

"So. Are we gonna sit around and _talk_ , or are we gonna _settle_ this?" Toby asked.

Palum's eyes widened, red glow fading a little, and Toby fought down a grin; Palum hadn't expected Toby to come expecting a fight. Or rather, hadn't expected Toby to come _prepared_ for a fight.

But then he dashed forward, scimitar raised above his head. Toby hopped back, swinging the hammer to slam into the side of the blade. Palum stumbled to the side, giving Toby an opening to smash the hammer into Palum's exposed side. But the troll ducked, rolled, and twisted around to swing his scimitar at Toby's ankles. Since staying on the ground was no longer an option, Toby shoved himself toward a tree, taking a moment to perch on the trunk, eyeing Palum for some opening.

Palum didn't roll, but somehow moved _faster_ than most trolls could manage with even _that_. Closing on the tree, he sliced through the trunk with one cut, forcing Toby to jump, making himself weightless, or enough that he could twist off one of the heavy metal bracelets he'd taken to wearing and toss it down (nearly hitting Palum's shoulder) and soar up, out of reach. Toby caught a sturdy branch thirty feet up, so he had at least a moment to watch as Palum jumped up ten feet and began climbing after Toby. He was a little...squarer than the rest of the Quagawumps, and therefore probably a half-breed. He moved quick, but not recklessly. Like a warrior. Like someone who should have been there when the Quagawumps were under attack.

"You're a _ringer_!" Toby shouted in sudden realization. "A Gumm Gumm!" He jumped to another tree just before Palum could get in reach, bracing himself as Palum took a perch, crouching to follow Toby.

At the last moment, Toby went weightless and struck the tree trunk as hard as he could, soaring back from the force of the blow as Palum landed on unsteady footing that cracked as he tried to catch himself. The troll flailed as the branches beneath him shattered; he plunged his scimitar into the wood as he fell to slow and eventually stop his fall. But Toby was ready for that, reaching out and yanking down on the tree just as Palum jerked to a stop. The tree groaned and cracked, falling with slow inevitability as Palum scrabbled for purchase.

"How'd you convince them to let _you_ take over?" Toby asked.

Palum snarled and leapt sideways, digging into a wider, sturdier tree Toby didn't think he could take down without another trick. "In case you haven't noticed, the Quagawumps aren't that bright. After all, you convinced them _you're_ the Shattered King reborn."

Toby grimaced. He didn't need to have _this_ debate, not when he wasn't sure himself it was a lie. But Palum, sensing weakness, pressed further.

"You'd have to be an _idiot_ to look at someone like you and think you're a _troll_ \- that the blood of kings flowed in your veins. But I suppose _anyone_ would do, if they could save the Quagawumps' pathetic hides."

"Shut _up_!" Toby threw his hammer, putting all the force he could behind it. The tree Palum was using as a brace all but exploded when Toby's hammer collided with it.

"Nice shot," Palum growled, having jumped to a slightly smaller tree that nevertheless bore his weight. "But now-" The second tree shattered, sending him plunging downward as Toby's hammer crashed through it. Catching it as it sped toward him knocked Toby off balance, but he'd had enough practice soaring around while under the influence of fluctuating gravity to bounce off another tree and hit the ground in a wide open space, breathing hard. He didn't have time to wonder about his hammer before Palum was on him, scimitar flashing wildly, moving almost too fast to track-

And then Toby saw it, the wide bands wrapped around Palum's ankles, one holding a bright yellow gem, and the other a colorless bead. One for speed, and the other-

Toby ducked a swing of the blade, kicking at Palum's legs. The troll, though, was _sturdy_ , holding his balance as he _stabbed_ down at Toby. Toby thrust the head of the hammer in between him and the blade, which-

Snapped, two pieces of metal flying to either side as Palum fell, rolling to the side. Palum snarled and slapped his palm against the clear gem on his ankle. When he pulled his hand away, curled gently, the air around it shimmered subtly, like the waves rolling off of hot asphalt. He pitched the hilt of his sword at Toby, who, halfway to his feet, scrambled back to evade it. And then Palum, looming over Toby, was in close, one hand grabbing the handle of the hammer, wrenching it away, while the other, shimmering dangerously, rose to strike through Toby's chest.

Palum yelped as the hammer fell, dragging his arm down and sending the other flailing back. Toby hopped backward, reaching out, certain if he could fling it skyward, he could get it back.

But instead the hammer flipped around out of Palum's grip and back into Toby's own.

Which was pretty good evidence this was some sort of boomerang hammer. Palum, though, slammed into Toby, sending him into a tree with a bone-shaking impact. Toby struggled to rise, until something slammed into his arms, pinning them down. Palum bared his teeth at Toby when he looked up, and the troll raised his haze-covered hand.

Toby tried to lift his hands, but Palum's feet were heavy on his wrists. So he looked to his hammer, offering a desperate plea that it had another trick in it - he'd take _anything_ , as long as it gave him a second more of life.

Palum paused, looking upward. Toby followed his gaze, but didn't immediately see anything. The air, however, smelled dry, like - smoke, of some sort.

"Oh, fu-"

Toby woke some time later - his ears were ringing, and the world around him was just shadows.

"-alive? Because if James finds out I let you _die_ , the fact I've betrayed my father will be the _least_ of my concerns."

"Just answer my phone," Toby murmured, "and you can tell Jimbo I'm okay."

"There is no phone."

"Then what's that ringing?"

"That's from the lightning," Bular grunted.

"Lightning?"

"Yes, the bolt of lightning that struck Palum. There was some debate about whether you technically _won_ , until someone argued that there are worse things to have than a king with the gods on his side."

"Wait, what happened to Palum?"

"There are _very_ few trolls who can survive being struck by lightning. Palum was not one of them."

"Yay us," Toby said, raising a hand. "You mind if I pass out now?"

He didn't wait for a response.

\---

Three days before the end of the world, Jim was making dinner (lasagna, because it was easy to make enough to feed any combination of Trollhunters that might pass through the Lake household) when the doorbell rang. He scanned the living room for Archimedes (despite not having seen the owl for a _week_ ) to make sure he didn't pop up unexpectedly and startle the UPS driver or something.

When he pushed the front door open, though, Jim froze. Because standing there was a man, dark-haired, blue-eyed, just under six feet tall, built wider than Jim. He was dressed in dark slacks and a bright green sweater, grey messenger bag slung over his shoulder, and when he saw Jim, he gave him a weak smile.

"Hey, son."

"Dad."

"Can I come in?"

Jim took a breath, held it, considering. His mom had made it clear that Jim _could_ speak to his father, if he wanted (if his _father_ wanted). It wasn't like Mr. Palchuk, who wasn't allowed to communicate with Steve _at all_.

The circumstances under which Jim's dad had _left_ , though, required some serious thought about whether Jim _wanted_ to see him.

_Any thoughts?_

Mordred snorted in Jim's head. _I don't think I'm the most qualified to talk about family matters._

Which, yeah. Mordred had let his mother's worst enemy sacrifice him to make the Amulet of Daylight, and let his father declare war on her in retribution.

"Look, James, I can go. But if I left you my number-"

"Come on in. I'm making lasagna."

Jim's dad raised his eyebrows in surprise, but he refrained from commenting as he stepped inside and followed Jim into the kitchen. He remained quiet as Jim sauteed, simmered, and chopped, until Jim tasted the sauce and offered the spoon to his dad.

The older man took a taste and made a thoughtful noise. "I'm going to go out on a limb and guess Barbara's kitchen skills haven't improved much."

Jim felt a flare of irritation. "Yeah, she didn't have much time to learn between getting her medical degree and fighting for a residency that didn't require me to move away from my hometown. So I figured I'd help look out for her."

Jim's dad furrowed his brow. "She shouldn't make you-"

"She _doesn't_!" Jim snapped, looking up from the sauce long enough to flash his dad a brief glare. "If you're here to criticize Mom for how we've coped with you being gone, you can leave."

"No, I…" Jim heard his dad move a little further away, likely to sit next to the counter. "I wanted to see you. You look...good. Grown up."

"Yeah, eleven years does that to kids," Jim retorted.

"You'd be, sixteen?"

"Seventeen in the spring," Jim replied.

"You have a girlfriend?" Jim's dad asked. Jim huffed in annoyance, at which point, his dad asked, "A boyfriend?"

Jim choked and splattered the hot water and noodles he'd been straining; Mordred's presence notably retreated from the forefront of Jim's mind. Because the answer was _no_ , obviously. But there had been some...awkwardness before they'd realized Mordred's awareness wasn't as distant as it had been before he'd been forced to occupy Jim's body for several weeks. And just bringing it to mind was-

"Um, it's okay if you do-"

"I _know_ , Dad. Mom talked with me about this _ages_ ago, and my best friend - most of my friends-" Jim trailed off, trying to remember if _any_ of his friends were straight. Draal, maybe, and Mr. Strickler? "Anyway, you are _late_ on the 'I'll accept you no matter what' discussion."

"Ah." 

The silence held for another few minutes, until Jim put the lasagna in the oven and didn't have anything to distract himself from this...whatever it was. Unwilling to meet his dad's eyes, Jim leaned against the counter, glowering at the sink. "So. What's this about? Feeling guilty?"

"No, I - it's been a long time, and I...you're doing okay, Jim? You haven't been feeling...weird, lately?"

"Please don't tell me you came here to give me the sex talk - Mom is a _doctor_ , so I have had _many_ discussions, _increasingly graphic_ ones, on the subject of my changing body and appropriate expressions of my sexuality."

"I wasn't - she's been doing alright?"

"She's _fine_ \- but if you cared about that, you'd have talked to her sometime in the last eleven years, right?"

"Son…" Jim's dad sighed. "I know I haven't been here, but - I wanted to know if we could - try a fresh start?"

"What, you come to my weekend ball games and I pretend you didn't walk out on us when I was five?"

"Maybe not - you play ball?"

"My extracurricular activities aren't the point."

 _They sort of are -_ he's _the reason you're the Trollhunter._

Jim stiffened at Mordred's thought, because Jim hadn't ever thought of it _that_ way. His father had _left_ , and Archimedes, working on bad intel, had mistaken Jim for his father. It wasn't like his father had _meant_ for this to happen. But Mordred probably had a unique perspective on responsibility for things unrelated to what you'd _meant_ to happen.

"You're sure you're alright?" Jim's dad asked.

"What's with this obsession about how I feel?" Jim demanded, turning on his father. "You don't have, like, cancer, and want to tell me I've got a genetic disposition, do you?"

_If it helps, your body seemed to be in pretty good shape when I was controlling it - aside from the damage done when the Amulet of Daylight ripped your soul out._

"No, I - is it that hard to imagine I...regret staying away this long?"

"Maybe, I-" Jim swiped at his face, ducking away from his dad. "I'm not used to _good_ surprises."

"Jim?" Jim's dad rose, one hand out, cautious. "Are you in trouble?"

Jim huffed, trying to keep the laugh out of his voice, because how could he tell the truth? His dad wasn't a Trollhunter, probably would run _again_ if he heard about the shit Jim was getting into (or, worse, blame Jim's mom for it). "Nothing you need to worry about. I'll live."

Jim's dad nodded, but his eyes were clouded, brow tugged down. Abruptly he looked away. "Can you point me to the bathroom, son?"

Once his dad was gone, Jim fumbled for his phone. His first instinct was to text his mom, but he didn't want to deal with how she'd respond. Toby, too, would…

 _He'd come over here and kick your dad's ass,_ Mordred offered, voice sounding smug, as if _he'd_ like to kick Jim's dad's ass, too.

Jim's feet moved, drawing him close to his dad's chair, to where his bag rested on the floor against the kitchen counter. _Cut that out,_ Jim snapped.

_Sorry, I just-_

Jim could feel it now, Mordred's curiosity, suspicion, anger, as he tugged Jim down and flipped open the bag.

_**Mordred**! We can't-_

Jim's hand touched something cool, and he shivered, like a full-body chill, except it didn't stop. His stomach twisted and cramped, forcing Jim to double over, retching as his lungs convulsed, making it impossible to breathe. His hands and feet clenched, tightened, and Jim felt something like someone clamping a hand around his bones. And then something like someone _twisting_ his skeleton.

Jim didn't know if the scream left his mouth. He could barely hear Mordred over the pain and the sound of his voice dropping in volume, into an agonized snarl.

And then something broke through the pain, a voice, unfamiliar but speaking in level, calm tones. There was a warm hand pressed against the space below his stomach. "-from your diaphragm. One deep breath in, one out. Another in, another out. You can ride this out, and the next time it won't be as bad. You can get through this - you'll be fine."

And slowly, eventually, the pain receded, and Jim could breathe again. But his skin felt strange where his hands were splayed against his legs, and the kitchen lights seemed too bright; Jim squinted at them until they flicked off and the house was only lit by the clock over the stove and a lamp somewhere closer to the door.

"Are you alright, Jim?"

"Why-" an unfamiliar voice growled, "do you have a gaggletack in your bag?"

"Well, it's less useful now," Jim's dad said, "but it was for keeping the Janus Order off my back."

A gaggletack? Jim's mind was racing, uselessly, in circles. Because if a gaggletack had made Jim sick, that meant-

Jim lunged up, overbalanced, and caught himself on the kitchen counter (were those _claws_ at the ends of his fingers?). Running, unsteady navigating a house that suddenly seemed too small, Jim made his way to the bathroom, flicking on the blinding light above the mirror to see-

He was _blue_.

_That's not the only thing that's changed._

_Shut up! I'm...blue._

Jim's skin was blue, and when he reached his hand up to his face, it felt rough- _Living stone,_ Mordred supplied, because he _wasn't letting Jim process this in his own time!_

 _Sorry._ Mordred's presence retreated, and Jim felt a sudden sense of loss, because-

Because he was freaking out, and needed someone other than his _dad_ here.

Jim growled, baring fangs he had not had this morning, eyes gleaming bright even against the bathroom light.

"Fuck, am I _taller_?"

"James?"

Jim spun around, calling Daylight to hand; his father fell back with a yelp as the blade cut through where his neck had been a moment before.

"Fuck!" Jim called. "I didn't - my arms are longer than I'm used to-"

"Oh, my _god_." Jim's dad was pressed back against the wall on the far end of the hall, eyes fixed on the Amulet of Daylight.

" _What_?" Jim demanded. " _What the hell is going on_? I'm not - I can't be a changeling! I'd remember-"

"You're not a changeling," Jim's dad said. He reached up to his face and pulled something away-

And there was a troll, taller than Jim by a foot or more, skin a darker shade of blue than Jim's, but face, mouth so much like his own, horns wicked spikes rising from his forehead. " _I_ am," the troll - changeling - Jim's _dad_ \- said.

He took a hesitant step toward Jim, one (clawed) hand reaching up to Jim's cheek. And Jim's dad had seemed distant, uncomfortable since he'd arrived, but now he looked...Jim had seen that expression on his _Mom's_ face, on _Toby's_.

Concern. Fear. 

"I never thought - he'd _do_ it," Jim's dad whispered.

"Who? Do...what?"

"I thought...if he couldn't _find_ me - if the only person he could find was a _child_..."

"What…"

Still trying to get used to being taller, wider, to being able to smell the sweat and grime of a human household, Jim shook his head.

"What about a - child?"

Jim's dad shook his head. "It doesn't matter. You're the - Trollhunter."

His father...knew what the Trollhunter was.

His father was a changeling.

His father hadn't wanted someone to find him.

Had wanted that person to find _Jim_ instead.

Jim took a shaky breath. "Dad. Who - were you trying to avoid?"

"Jim, maybe now isn't the time-"

" _What did you do_?"

And though he was a foot taller than Jim, was more used to his body than Jim was his own, though he was - could be _centuries_ older than Jim, Jim's dad fell back against the wall, eyes wide. Jim snarled, anger boiling in his chest. " **Tell me**!"

"Merlin's familiar. I learned - he needed a _changeling_ to be the Trollhunter, that he wanted _me_ , so-"

"You hid yourself. Had a child you gave your own name. Ran." Jim's voice was still unfamiliar to him, so when Mordred took control of Jim's mouth, it was easy to hear it as Mordred's own voice. The flood of emotions, though, Jim couldn't piece out. He was angry, Mordred was angry, but the anger was twisted, bound together, and felt so - raw.

Jim slammed past his father, not caring about the high-pitched beeping from downstairs, not caring about the voice shouting in his head, just wanting to get away, to find something he could _hit_ , _kill_ -

Jim smashed open the back door of the house and ran into the night.

\---

Usurna paused at a crossroads, faced with a choice between returning to Morgana and telling her of Usurna's failure, or continuing to hide from her people down here.

"Usurna."

Usurna jerked around, snarling, but saw no one nearby.

"Who's there?"

"I would be lying if I said I was a friend. But at least I don't currently want to rend you limb from limb, which puts me a step ahead of the rest of your breed."

Usurna bared her teeth at the empty tunnel. " _Declare yourself_!"

"You can call me Ryuujin."

The name sent a chill down Usurna's spine; the name was one of great power and cruelty. And the name of a dragon (not the _true_ name of a dragon, of course). 

"And what do you want with me?"

"Well, I figured you might be at a crossroads. Banished from your home, unable to face your mistress...worried about the doom coming to the world."

"And?"

"Usurna, how would you like to live forever?"

Ryuujin was a creature of destruction - he had corrupted the Moon King and burned the Library of Alexandria. So Usurna's suspicion was well-founded.

"And why would you offer such a gift to me?"

"You misunderstand my question - it would not be a gift, but payment for services rendered."

"...What sort of services?"

"You bear the keenest sight of all Krubera, and my master wishes to find something that has been lost."

Usurna had not known Ryuujin had a _master_ , and could not imagine the power of one who could command him.

But it made his promise of immortality more credible.

"...You have a deal."


	11. Heritage and History

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jim tries to center himself, and Toby learns some history.

Barbara was in the kitchen shouting at her ex-husband (whom Strickler had never met in human form, but had seemed the type to construct a complex series of displacements to ensure anyone trying to find him would find his son, instead). Strickler wasn't certain the shouting was productive, but given what James' actions had accomplished, endangering the life of his then _fifteen-year-old son_ , the shouting was probably warranted.

(Barbara had asked once, terse, if Strickler had known. He'd told her no, because there'd been _no_ indication Jim was anything other than human, and James Lake Senior had not been the type to share.)

Toby had most of Jim's other friends scouring the town. After careful debate, he had agreed to a call to Detective Scott, mostly to keep anyone from accidentally shooting Jim.

Kellor had made an appearance shortly after the rest of the trolls, before sending them to intercept Jim before he ran into anywhere Gumm Gumms might be lurking. She was sprawled on the Lake's couch, and had refused all offers of food, drink, or the television. She was here because when a young troll ran away from home in an emotional outburst, it helped to have someone who understood him to talk to. And while no one understood Jim's situation exactly, Kellor was the only other person Strickler knew who was the child of a human and a changeling.

Merlin was nowhere to be found, which was par for the course - it was like working for Bular again, except with fewer threats on people's lives.

"-been studying troll anatomy for _months_ , so don't think I don't know how to do it!"

Fewer _unwarranted_ threats on people's lives.

A door slammed; Strickler risked a peek into the kitchen, where Barbara was hunched over a scorched pan of lasagna.

"You aren't so upset you decided to cook, did you?" Strickler offered.

Barbara laughed, a shaky, broken sound. "Jim made this. It got forgotten in all the…" She waved at the rest of the house. Strickler stepped up next to her, eyeing the platter.

"Well, I wouldn't advise eating it."

Barbara laughed again. "We should-"

"How about I order some pizza? When we find Jim, everyone's going to be hungry."

"When?"

"Jim hasn't gone far," Strickler replied. "I - in our troll forms, our emotions run higher, but we aren't _different people_. He doesn't want to _leave you_ , Barbara. He just needs...distance. Time to think." After a moment, he added, "He isn't alone."

Barbara smiled. Strickler hadn't interacted with the spirit of the Amulet (there were few likely candidates for his true identity, the actual King Arthur not being one of them) more than required, but Barbara, living with the boy masquerading as her son, had certainly had more. If anyone would know if 'Arthur's' presence would be a help, she would. So her smile eased some of Strickler's worry.

"He'll...really be okay?"

"We might all be dead in a week, Barbara. But Jim's heritage will not change his _character_. The Gumm Gumms say that Gunmar and his siblings were born from a corrupted Heartstone, and were so destined for evil, but I have always found that explanation a little pat. They were raised by a sapiovoric creature devoid of empathy, which did their sense of right and wrong no favors. An angel raised under such circumstances would not fare well, I suspect."

Barbara wiped at her and turned a narrow glance toward Strickler. "How does this have to do with Jim?"

Strickler carefully turned Barbara around so he could look her in the eyes, so she could see his sincerity. "Jim was raised to believe in his responsibility toward other people - toward _all_ people, whatever their species. He was raised to stand up for others and to support those who he sees struggling. _You_ raised him that way. Were he not the Trollhunter already, Kellor would surely see him as a prime candidate to become an Eclipse Knight. His trollish allies see in him only an unmatched strength and compassion, and _that is your doing_ , Barbara. His father's contribution is - genetics. He is grounding himself. We are just - making sure he remains safe while he does so."

Barbara sobbed and pulled Strickler into a hug; he turned, carefully, to keep her face away from the spines around his neck, before wrapping his arms around her shoulders loosely.

"It'll be alright, Barbara. Between your son's training, your influence, and Arthur's counsel, he will come home safe."

"And what about after that?" Barbara murmured into Strickler's shoulder.

"Hm?"

"The solstice is in three days. All of us - of them - are going to fight. We don't have any guarantees, and-" Barbara's hands clenched against Strickler's back. "How could he _do_ that?"

Strickler sighed. If James had been following Gunmar's, or Morgana's, orders, Strickler might have had an answer. But given how Strickler had struggled with the commands to betray Jim to Bular, he doubted he would understand, anyway.

"Some say our true character is revealed when we fear for our lives," Strickler replied. "Your ex-husband...did not demonstrate an admirable character even _before_ you learned of this."

Barbara chuckled, voice sounding a little wet. "It's been eleven years; I think that's long enough you can call him an asshole without offending me."

"I have put little thought into _understanding_ James' behavior," Strickler murmured. "From my perspective, all that matters is the pain he has inflicted on Jim. That Jim needs our support."

"And what - sort of support does he need?" Barbara stepped back and began pacing. "He's - does he need a different set of vaccinations? I've studied troll anatomy as it relates to injury, but what about illness?"

"I can provide books, if you like. But you cannot treat Jim like a troll...or like a human." Kellor had risen, stopping just on the other side of the divider between the kitchen and rest of the house. "There are few of us, though more than we might presume. Unsurprisingly, people try to keep these sorts of things quiet. If Merlin intended the Trollhunter to be a bridge between the world of humans and trolls, he could do worse than James Lake Jr."

"By all indications, James Lake Jr. was not Merlin's choice," Strickler said. "It is most likely Merlin intended to use some form of sympathetic magic to influence the changelings through James' father."

"Lucky for us Jim isn't a changeling."

"But he changed _shape_!" Barbara twisted to face Kellor. "How - is he stuck like that, like the other changelings?"

Kellor shook her head, a smile smile on her lips. "It was easy to find out what happened to the changelings - _someone_ got them out of the Darklands, and dropped them at - orphanages, welfare offices, all over the place, really. But Jim isn't a _changeling_. A changeling is a troll with a magical bond to a human infant. Jim is...a human _and_ a troll. You could think of him as a changeling who is his own familiar. So unless you could strip him of his humanity, you cannot take him human form from him. Still...I doubt changing back is something he can manage while he's upset."

"Well, lucky he will have two changelings to help him when he gets back, then," Strickler said. "So how about we make some tea?" He looked to Barbara as he put on the pot. "Will James - Senior, that is - be joining us?"

"I don't care _what_ he does," Barbara bit out. She then stepped to the counter and picked something up before crossing to Strickler's side. "Although, he left something behind and under the circumstances, I don't feel guilty keeping it."

She set a flat-faced mask made of red wood on the counter next to the stove.

And it made perfect sense - James had deceived Jim into believing he was human until Jim himself changed shape, something a changeling couldn't do in these days without a Glamour Mask.

\---

Jim wasn't entirely certain where he ended up. When he left the house, he'd-

Run. Troll legs let him run faster than he'd ever before, jump incredible distances, and his reflexes were _noticeably_ , if not incredibly, better than as a human.

Jim had left the house angry, panicked, but as he left town and took to the trees at the foot of the mountains, some of that panic eased, the wide-open space of a dark night giving him a bit of peace.

He was still _angry_ , but without the fear, it didn't push him into anxious flight. But Jim still felt pent up - like he'd been chained up, penned in, so he ran, jumping between trees, laughing when small animals fled in front of him.

_You calmed down any?_

Jim's hand missed his next handhold and he hit the forest floor, crashing through half a dozen bushes before a tree stopped his movement. He lay there for a moment, shocked, before he realized the bruises and scratches he'd expected failed to materialize.

_You're a_ troll _. They're notably more resilient than humans._

_Mordred?_

_Who else? Have you been sharing your brain with anyone else?_

"I don't know," Jim muttered. He sprawled out next to the tree, the evening chill of the soil muted against what was apparently his rocky hide. "I - changed. I thought maybe-"

_The Amulet is bound to your soul - why wouldn't I be the same?_

"I don't-"

"Hello?" Jim scrambled up so his back was against the tree. The voice sounded...familiar, though he couldn't place it.

His heart clenched, a rush of panic flooding through his veins; Jim almost summoned Daylight again, but then someone stepped out from behind a tree. A slim boy, about Jim's age, moving with loose movement, eyes gold in the darkness, took a step toward him before pausing. Jim's heart was racing, and his claws dug into the ground beneath him. He tried to back up further, but the tree was already at his back and wouldn't shift no matter how much he shoved.

"Hey. Don't be afraid. I'm not going to hurt you." The boy spread his hands, palms out, smiling at Jim. "I'm not one of those dicks who judges people based on what they look like."

Jim's fear gave way to something else - a sort of hysterical laughter bubbled up from him as he shook against the tree.

The boy waited for a moment before he tilted his head, eyebrows tugging close. "Are you...alright?"

Jim snorted, because he had _no_ idea how to answer that question.

"Wait - _Jim Lake_?"

Jim snapped his head around to the other boy, who looked...odd, a light frown on his lips, eyes dimming. 

"I…"

"You _are_ Jim, right?" the boy asked. "I go to school with him, and you look...well, obviously an entirely different species, but if you're a changeling-"

"I'm not a changeling," Jim retorted.

"Well, that's alright," the boy replied. He didn't press, but…

"You said you go to school with - Jim."

"With you."

Jim huffed. "Who _are_ you?"

The other boy started before flushing. "I cannot believe I did that - unforgivably rude. You can call me Douxie." He held out a hand, which Jim took, finding the human palm dwarfed by his own.

"Jim," Jim replied, because it was habit. At Douxie's knowing grin, Jim flinched, ducking away from him. 

The other boy laughed. "I hope you don't think you were fooling me," he said. "You look very much like him."

"Jim Lake?" Jim asked.

Douxie paused, tilting his head as he examined Jim's face. "...I thought so, but there's someone else, there." Douxie reached a hand out; Jim's hand snapped out without his conscious control and caught it before it could touch his face.

"I'm sorry," Douxie said, hopping back. "I shouldn't have - that was rude."

_Mordred?_

Mordred didn't respond to Jim's inquiry; Douxie, instead, sat down just out of arm's reach.

" _Do_ you need help?" Douxie asked. "I don't how much I can do - I haven't been involved in the affairs of trolls for...a while."

"I don't know," Jim muttered. "I thought I was human until tonight." He pulled his hands up and folded them in his lap. The words came easier to a practical stranger than to his friends, the declaration of things that had been building for weeks - months.

"I'm scared," Jim said. "Every new thing I discover - about the trolls, about _myself_ \- takes me further away from who I am - who I _thought_ I was. And it's not just me - my friends keep finding they aren't who they thought they were. I worry…"

"You're not _corrupting_ them, Jim," Douxie said. "You don't have the power to change their heritage." He shifted a little closer to Jim. "Do you want to hear a story?"

_Oh God,_ Mordred muttered, _a parable._

_Mordred?_ Mordred didn't reply, except with a sense of fond exasperation, like when Jim settled in for a rant from Toby.

"There was a man who was said to be the son of the Devil," Douxie said. "In fear of the evil he might enact in his Father's name, his mother had him baptized, and given a Christian name. So anointed, he was no longer bound to his father's lineage, his destiny."

"And he became a pure-hearted man, a saint beloved by his neighbors?"

Douxie shook his head and smirked at Jim. "No. The child was christened Vlad III, but as an adult, they called him Vlad the Impaler, Dracula, Son of the Devil."

Jim, who'd leant in at the beginning of Douxie's story, fell back with a scowl. "I thought you were trying to tell me something about people's heritage."

"I was." Douxie leaned back, looking up at the stars. "Did you know that the Devil was once an angel? Lucifer - it means 'light-bringer'. He was among the mightiest of angels, and now he is the avatar of evil. Dracula's mother had him baptized so he would not be destined for evil, but forgot that all men - all people - have the _capacity_ for evil. Dracula was not evil because his father was the devil - he was evil because he chose to be."

Douxie fell silent, evidently finished with his story. Jim wasn't certain he understood the point of the story. "Is that true?"

Douxie smirked and winked at Jim. "Well, no. Vlad the Impaler _did_ have a dicey reputation, but there's no evidence his father was the Devil. But just because it isn't true doesn't mean the lesson it teaches doesn't matter; do you think there really was a Good Samaritan?"

A flare of irritation distracted Jim from an immediate answer; recognizing it as Mordred's emotions, he tamped it down. "So...what? It doesn't matter who my father is?"

"No, it - your lineage matters. Your history matters. But _you_ are the only person who gets to decide who you are. I met a cool dude, once, a - well, he was trying to mug me, one of those weird misunderstandings that happens sometimes. But I talked some sense into him and now he's an engineer."

"That's - you tell weird stories, you know that?"

"All stories are weird, if you think about it," Douxie mused. "But I think the important thing is that being a troll or changeling or whatever doesn't have to mean _anything_."

Douxie rocked up onto his feet and reached a hand down to Jim. Although the boy was shorter than Jim was now, Jm still accepted the hand to help him stand.

"Feeling any better?" Douxie asked.

Jim nodded; the rush of emotion that had driven him from his house had smoothed out, though there was still a discordant note from Mordred he'd have to sort out at some point. "You're, uh, thank you."

"No problem," Douxie replied. "You want me to walk you home?"

"Um." Jim looked down at his body, over six feet tall, several hundred pounds and made of living stone. "Do you think that's necessary?"

Douxie shrugged. "No one's safe all the time, no matter how tall or buff. Besides, I thought you might want company."

It was awkward forming a response; of course Jim wanted company, but he already had it. So he let Douxie escort him home, the long walk quiet, even Mordred silent in Jim's head.

But when he got home, his mind was silent, calm, and when they reached Jim's house, Jim pulled the other boy into a tight embrace, one that stretched on too long when Jim found his arms wouldn't easily let go.

But though the night had been plagued by emotions not wholly in Jim's control - his own emotions amplified by his troll shape, Mordred's confusing wash of thoughts - when he stepped back into his home to find his mother standing in the kitchen, the relief he felt was his own.

\---

One day before the end of the world, Toby met with Aja and Krel for lunch at their favorite restaurant. They were muttering to each other in an unfamiliar language when Toby arrived; their waiter, who Toby recognized from around school, held up a finger as he finished refilling Krel's water glass and vanished off to find Toby one, presumably.

Aja muttered something, then, a word that Toby _recognized_.

"What was that?"

Krel jerked his head up, flushing. "That's the primary language on Akiridion 5."

"No, there was a word I thought I've heard before."

Aja frowned. "It isn't inconceivable you would have heard a little of our language from your mother." She said something incomprehensible; Toby shook his head. She tried a few times more.

"We were talking about…" Krel lowered his voice, "The Sleeping God."

"You don't think she warned Toby about him, do you?"

And Toby, who remembered the books that had been his mothers, the word he'd heard Aja say, wondered if she had. "How do you say 'sleeping god' in Akiridion...ese?"

Aja spat out a few words, before adding, "But we don't call him _that_ , or everyone would use different names. We use the Ancient Galactic word for 'One Who Sleeps'."

"And what's that?" Toby asked.

" _Cthulhu_."

"That's impossible," Toby replied. "That's a monster from a book - _fiction_." Krel raised an inquisitive eyebrow. "He's this giant squid that sleeps under the sea until the stars are right when he wakes and...kills everyone."

"That _sounds_ like the Sleeping God," Krel mused.

"But the story's like a hundred years old!"

Aja and Krel exchanged a look. Worried. Wary.

"We think...the Sleeping God may have been on Earth for...some time."

" _How long_?"

"As long as your people have, we think. Egyptian burial practices aren't so different from those of the Cult - keeping the body intact so it will be whole when they are resurrected is common among the Cult."

"And then there's Jesus," Aja said.

An anxious feeling curled in Toby's gut. "You don't think he's the Sleeping God...do you? I know a lot of kids who are Christian, and it's not like-"

"We don't know," Aja said with a bite. "The importance of blood, the resurrection of the body, it _could_ be a coincidence. But the things done in his name - that's one way Blood Magic can work. If you kill someone in the name of one person, or cause, their death becomes bound to that person, and that energy becomes _theirs_. So the Crusades, the Inquisition, the things that church did to the people they found who did _not_ worship their god...it is very much like what the Cult did to our world."

"But I've read the books, and it doesn't _condone_ that!" Krel protested. "We think...somewhere along the line, the Sleeping God turned at least _some_ of that faith into his pawns, unwitting or not."

Their waiter, Douxie, came back at that time, and Toby ordered a peanut butter and chocolate milkshake, because the world was ending and he wasn't allowed to drink anything stronger.

\---

"Fuck! Stop the car stop the car!"

Jamie swerved to the side of the Interstate before turning to glare at his furry co-pilot. Aster, however, was pressed down against the passenger seat, all but even with the normal top of the seat. Jamie's stomach churned, uneasy.

"Aster?"

"I can feel it," Aster whispered.

"Feel what?" Jamie demanded.

"Blood Magic," Wumpa muttered from the back seat.

" _Powerful_ Blood Magic," Aster corrected. " _Monstrously_ powerful."

"And that's...bad?"

Aster snorted. "Look, anyone ever teach you about the hierarchy of spellcasting?"

"No?"

"Well, at the bottom's your dabbler, people who pick up a spell or two because it's useful. Then your hedge witches, who try to get ahold of enough theory to be half-decent at magic. Then your basic amateur - people with enough access to libraries or tutors to be good at it, if they bother. Then your real sorcerers - people training to become true masters of their art. Our mutual friend Clyde Palchuk is a master Light Mage with a nasty habit of using Blood Magic to enhance it."

"So...this is Sergeant Palchuk?"

"No. I've seen Palchuk at work - and Ryuujin, one of like _two_ dragons running around the planet, and another of the Sleeping God's acolytes. Neither of them are more than journeymen Blood Mages. I've only known one Master Blood Mage in my life: Fin the Alchemist - and she burned down my warren."

"So...you think that's Fin?"

Aster's ears flicked back. "No, it's _worse_. There's only one creature I know who has that much power gathered through blood and sacrifice."

The setting sun in front of them began to redden to a shade like fresh blood.


	12. Nightfall

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The beginning of the end

"Do you wonder how I can put out the sun, Zelda?"

Morgana was standing atop the mountain overlooking Arcadia Oaks. She was surrounded by a cloak of shade that enveloped Zelda, so even trapped in her human form, she could stand without fear of the sun (theoretically; despite Morgana's expressed fondness for Zelda, Zelda had some reservations relying wholly on Morgana's goodwill to keep her from dying of sunstain).

Morgana was leaning on the Staff of Avalon. In the weeks since Gunmar had presented the prize to Morgana, Zelda hadn't seen her actually use the staff.

_Correction_ , Zelda hadn't seen Morgana use the staff to cast Merlin's magic. She had taken Zelda on several dozen or so trips to random places in North America. Colorado, New Mexico, Alabama, South Carolina - it took a dozen or so of these trips before she noticed each trip involved a stop next to a monument, or a tasteful plaque. Zelda hadn't _read_ them, which was starting to seem like a failure in intelligence gathering on her part.

"The thought had occurred to me. You famously blotted out the sun once through a contract with the moon. But-"

"I have no such contract. And no matter the depth of my rage, I cannot extinguish the sun. I have plumbed the Staff of Avalon for its secrets, and Merlin crafted no spell to destroy the sun. A dragon might cloak the world in shadow momentarily, but there are no runes that can burn it out."

"An angel might be able to unmake a star, but there are few such creatures who would be so inclined. And that leaves…"

"Blood Magic," Zelda concluded. "But-"

"You have some idea of the limitations of Blood Magic. Enough to understand how much death must be caused to the glory of one name, one purpose, to achieve my end. And you are correct: the answer is _millions_."

When Morgana turned to Zelda, her eyes were wide, mouth twisted into a feral grin. "When Raum saw them cross the sea to this world, I knew they would be the instrument of my vengeance. They, who saw the tale of Arthur as a romance, instead of the treachery of Myrddin Wyllt. I coerced no one, but Raum watched, and when men shed blood in the name of those who claimed dominion over this land for no other reason than they believed _all of the world_ was theirs to rule...he created a grail. 'The white man's burden', 'Manifest destiny', ' _family values_ ' - words with so little sincerity that _anyone_ could co-opt them to their own purposes! Names whose death marked the continuation of centuries of violence, the worship of _profit_ over life - all bound to a single ideal, a single word."

Morgana lifted the Staff of Avalon. "To the inheritors of Merlin's arrogance, to the violence shed in the name of privilege and mindless hate - _this is your comeuppance_!"

And the light of the sun died.

\---

They'd been ready, sort of. They had spent most of the night before getting the Krubera and Quagawumps in town, and Detective Scott had manufactured some emergency to drive people out of town or inside.

Steve, however, had been putting off a very important conversation, which, as the sun darkened half an hour before sunset, he was officially not able to put off any longer.

"Mom! Lawrence! I got something to say!" Lawrence was here for dinner, so they were bustling around the kitchen, or had before the sunlight had gone red and faded. They turned from the window, twin expressions of concern on their face.

"Honey? What - what's going on?"

Steve had worked this out, but the brief confusion about whether his mother wanted to know what was going on with Steve, or what was going on with the sun, left him speechless, mouth hanging open.

Lawrence stepped around the kitchen counter, reaching out to cup Steve's shoulder. "Look, Steve, I - your mom - we both - whoever you love-"

"What? No, I'm not - me being gay is literally the least important thing going on right now!" Steve snapped. "Okay, an evil sorceress is trying to wipe out humanity by extinguishing the sun, but don't worry - I'm on top of it."

"On top of...what?" Lawrence asked.

"Steve?"

"When I got wrapped up in all that Order of Dawn stuff, I never really...fell out of it. I just stopped following a bunch of fascist jerks and helping people out. Me and - Eli-" Given his mom's and Lawrence's (entirely correct) assumption, Steve couldn't fight down the blush, "Jim Lake and - some other people have been at it for _months_ , and...well, this has been coming for a while."

"Steve," his mom said, hesitant, "What are you saying-"

A chorus of roars echoed down the street; Steve's mom and Lawrence shivered, but Steve found himself trying to identify the source. The sound of the hypnotized Gumm Gumm warriors was easy to pick out, but the other...it sounded feral. _Hungry_.

" _Grendel_ ," Steve growled. "Mom, Lawrence, get in the basement."

"Gren-" Steve remembered a moment too late his mother had a BA in _classics_. "Steve, what's going on?"

"I _said_ ," Steve repeated. He didn't have time to argue, so he kicked up the loose floorboard next to the door to open his lockbox and retrieve his rifle, handgun, and ammunition. When he half-turned, his mother was staring at him blankly, and Lawrence looked...disapproving. "Long story short, a whole bunch of fairy tale monsters are gonna try to kill all of us. You can't help because we can't risk you shooting someone who's on _our_ side. So you're gonna have to trust me."

Steve's mom opened her mouth, but Lawrence leaned in, murmuring something to her. She nodded, and he turned to Steve.

"You've...matured a lot over the last few months, Steve. And if part of what did that is - doing _this_ \- well, we'll have to trust you to be safe." It was probably Eli's influence (or _one of_ the other nerds, anyway) that Steve's first instinct was to point out fighting an army of trolls led by some sort of zombie troll was not safe. "You know, so - Steve, your mom and I have been talking-"

"You're good for her," Steve said, turning to the door. "So if you're asking for my blessing, you got it. And...my father's a _dick_. But I wouldn't mind calling you 'dad'."

The next roar from Grendel was close enough that Steve had no time to stick around after that, which was clearly a sign that someone was looking out for him (as long as that luck extended beyond preventing Steve from having emotional conversations with his - oh _god_ , Lawrence was going to be his step-dad).

The last thing Steve did as he stepped outside was slip on his helmet and flick on the headlamp attached to it. It had been close to night when the sun had gone out, but the moon hung heavy and dark in the sky. 

And there was a group of Gumm Gumm warriors headed by the lanky form of Grendel, the mythical troll who it had taken a true hero to kill. His eyes glowed a poisonous yellow, moving with purpose, but, it seemed, little consciousness. He'd been raised from the dead, magic that didn't work the way anyone who'd lost a loved one would want. Something dark and twisted occupied his form, something hungry and vicious, but willing to follow Gunmar's commands.

"Hey, snot-face!" Steve shouted. Grendel look out at him, mouth opening to reveal his teeth - not bloodied or gory, as they might be if he'd found victims already. "Yeah, I'm talking to you! You come here, to my town, walking around like you own the place? I got news for you, buddy - that's not gonna fly."

Grendel laughed, a croaking, throaty sound, and then was moving, almost too fast to follow with the naked eye. But at that distance, the power of Deya's Grace kicked in, allowing Steve to sidestep Grendel's first furious swipes; of course, Steve preferred keeping his distance, so he reflexively let out a quick blast of lightning to knock Grendel back and give him the space to run and ride out the side-effects of channelling electricity through the nerves in his hand.

...He had not thought this through.

Steve had just reached the end of the street where he had to decide whether to head downtown or into the wilds when a large, spherical form rocketed past Jim, barreling toward Grendel and his lackeys. The shape crashed into the mass of Gumm Gumms, sending them scattering, before unrolling into a large grey-and-green form.

Rather than wasting time calling out to Aaarrrgghh, Steve raised his rifle at Grendel and fired off a shot. Grendel fell back a step with a howl as the wound…did nothing.

It wasn't bleeding, didn't seem to hamper Grendel's movements as he turned to Aaarrrgghh, fangs wide in a threat display. "Fucking zombies," Steve grunted to himself, taking a breath to steady himself as he aimed for Grendel's skull.

The headshot sent Grendel's head snapping back, but he didn't fall.

" _Fuck_. Aaarrrgghh, fall back!"

'Fall back' apparently meant to Aaarrrgghh 'pick up the nearest fleshbag ally and sprint'.

Which wasn't the worst idea, given that killing Grendel was apparently going to need someone with more magical firepower than Steve or Aaarrrgghh could bring to bear.

\---

Jim had insisted Toby and his Nana join them for the solstice, and was making dinner when the sky went dark. He looked out the window, hoping it was a passing cloud, not-

"It's time," Merlin said, rising from the living room chair he'd commandeered. "Arm yourself, Trollhunter."

Jim glanced at Toby. "Tobes?"

" _On it_." Toby hopped to his bag and pulled out his warhammer, swinging it around experimentally.

"For the glory of Merlin...Daylight is mine to command."

As he landed, Jim felt a hand on his shoulder, and looked up to see his mom's face - not smiling, but steady, determined. "Nancy and I will get to the hospital - she'll be making sure any trolls you need to send our way get in safely."

"Thanks, Mom."

"And…" She pulled Jim into a tight hug. "I won't ask you to stay safe; it wouldn't be fair. But...do your best. Try to come back to me."

"Y - yeah," Jim replied, hugging his mom back.

When he pulled away, it was to see Merlin eyeing Toby suspiciously. A flare of anxiety from Mordred is what made Jim step forward.

"Is everything okay?"

Merlin jerked his head around, still frowning. "Where did you find that hammer?"

Toby raised the hammer, twisting it around as he examined it. "Got it off of Gruthark - one of Gunmar's-"

"Yes, I know Gunmar's army," Merlin said; he was still frowning, but at least he wasn't glaring at _Toby_. "I suppose she thought she was being clever," he mused.

"What are you talking about?" Jim asked.

"It doesn't matter. Keep an eye on that hammer, and...we'll talk about it when this is all over." Merlin walked to the back door and pushed it open.

"Wait, where - are you going?"

Merlin gave Jim a narrow stare. "Am I mistaken, or did I explain I intended to deal with Morgana while you handled Gunmar?"

"Yeah, but - hey, is Archimedes okay?" Merlin's look went blank. "Your familiar? Little owl?"

"...Archimedes is handling other matters," Merlin replied. "Now, are there any questions more pressing than the end of the world?"

Jim couldn't say if the exasperation he felt was his own or Mordred's; he shook his head, anyway.

"And James? I didn't intend a changeling to be the Trollhunter so he could fight Gunmar in a frail, human body."

He was gone before Jim could respond, but Toby was up next to Jim, growling.

"Do you think I could get away with a quick kick in the nuts when this is over?" Toby asked.

"We'll put it to a vote." Jim closed his eyes and tried to trigger unfamiliar bodily functions, the ability to change his shape, from frail human to sturdy troll.

"You're aware this is super weird, right? Cool, but weird."

Jim let out a breath, shaky...a little relieved. 

_Do_ not _tell me you were worried about what Toby thought about this!_ Mordred groaned. _Do you know how pathetic he was when you were trapped in the Void? Moping all over the place._

_Like you're one to talk._

_What-_

_Who's Douxie?_

"Jim? Jimbo, unless you've got, like, a super important briefing going on in your head, we've got more important things to worry about."

"Yeah, I - let's go."

Outside, it was quieter than Jim expected, Detective Scott and Councilwoman Nuñez having successfully cleared out most of the town. But the scent of troll and the scent of blood rose on the wind, and Jim found his head turning downtown.

"Jimbo?"

Jim ducked down to grab Toby and swing him up on his back.

"Jimbo?" Toby repeated, even as he dug his hands into Jim's shoulder, and the weight on Jim's back lightened.

"I'm not as strong as _Aaarrrgghh_ , but I'm basically Spiderman over here." Jim crouched, bracing himself, and leapt to the top of his house. He turned, carefully, and launched himself into the air again. Toby let out a wild laugh, and when they landed, patted Jim's shoulder.

"Dude. Brace yourself, because this is gonna be _Awesomesauce_."

Which was valid; troll strength and agility, combined with the ability to make someone almost weightless, cut the time it would have taken to get downtown by a quarter. Jim landed heavily outside the library and took a moment to take in the status of the battle. If they hadn't had the Quagawumps and Krubera on their side, the Gumm Gumms would have been running roughshod over the town. As it was, the fighting was scattered through the streets, cars and buildings suffering the brunt of the violence (not all - Jim could see a few broken statues within a two-block radius). But something about the scene struck Jim as wrong - like something was missing.

Something hit the ground behind Jim with a force that send him stumbling forward. Jim twisted to land on one knee, finding a creature looming over him - a troll thirty feet tall with a set of horns like a mask, and another like a crown. Yellow and violet swam in their eyes, which sparked dangerously as they looked down at him.

"Trollhunter," Gruthark growled. "Do you think whatever trick you're playing here will help you defeat _Gunmar_?"

"Dude, we are _winging it_ ," Toby replied. "So if you think there's a 'plan' to defeat Gunmar, you are going to be _incredibly_ disappointed."

"But hey," Jim added, "You are _definitely_ on our to-do list, so if you want to fight-"

"Jimbo, you got this?" Toby asked.

Jim nodded once, eyes fixed on Gruthark. "You ready for a rematch?"

"A rematch?" Gruthark chuckled. "What we had was not a fight - it was a _slaughter_."

"I wouldn't have it any other way," Jim growled. He snapped out Daylight, the Tornado Sapphire set within the Amulet pushing the air in front of the blade forth into a razor-sharp wind. Gruthark threw up their arm, but the hide of their forearm still chipped when the wind crashed into it. They twisted their lip into a snarl and leapt at Jim, who raised a shield made of silver-laced crystal just in time to block the troll's furious blow. Still, Jim was driven back a few inches. Toby took to the air, heading downtown, where they were certain Gunmar would be commanding his forces, but Jim had no time to worry about his best friend, just had to trust in him.

Jim shoved Gruthark a step aside, and when the larger troll stumbled, took the opening to tuck his head and arms in and roll. He wasn't built like a pure troll to tuck into a perfect sphere, but the roll was apparently built into troll DNA, and with the last stone he'd put in the Amulet, his shoulders and arms became coated with spikes hard enough to pierce through steel. He hadn't had long to train with Draal, but Gruthark wasn't a small target, and expected Jim to fight like a human, so Jim made an easy circuit of the road, made a precise shove to launch himself into the air and slam into Gruthark's back, sending the already off-balance troll to the ground. Jim ducked away from a trio of lumbering Gumm Gumm warriors (where were the intelligent ones? He hadn't seen any warriors who hadn't been hypnotized by the Decimaar Blade) and drew up Daylight up for another strike, drawing on one of Toby's prizes from his fight to win over the Quagawumps to envelop the blade with an impossible heat.

Gruthark rolled over and grabbed the blade in their hand; though they howled with the pain of touching the white-hot metal, they crushed it in their hand and swung the other around to slap Jim away. With merely human reflexes, Jim would have been thrown into the nearest storefront, but he instead caught a streetlight, swinging around to land lightly on his feet. He reached out his hand, Daylight coalescing into his grip.

He frowned, finding the blade responding...slowly, but with Gruthark charging at him, Jim didn't have time to worry. He blocked one blow with his shield, knocked another aside with the flat of Daylight, and rolled under Gruthark's legs to end behind the Gumm Gumm.

Jim raised Daylight for another strike-

Something snapped around his torso, his legs, and Jim was suddenly dragged flat, landing heavily on the pavement. Jim flexed his arms to break free, but even as he tried to move, a vast weariness settled over him, and he fell back down, exhausted.

A mocking laugh echoed through the battle-filled streets. "You have been an infuriating foe, Herr Lake. Always, we have found you with friends, allies who would frustrate our attempts to destroy you. But now you stand alone, Herr Lake. And there are two of us - Gruthark, general of Gunmar's armies, and Otto Scarbach, the bearer of the Amulet of _Midnight_."

"A - you haven't won a fight with that thing yet, and B - Mr. Lake is not alone."

Jim heard a sound like metal hitting metal, and whatever was pinning his arms and legs fell slack; though still feeling some touch of exhaustion, he rolled away, climbing to his feet, in time to see a figure clad all in gold land between him and, yes, Otto Scarbach, in human form, clad in adamant-black armor and sneering.

Blue wings tipped with purple and green snapped shut, revealing gold-plated horns sweeping back from their head, a helm wrapped tight around their head, The rest of the armor was much light that - form-fitting but coating the troll's entire body in gold, from their horns to their slender tail to their clawed feet. Even the loose - kilt or whatever around their waist was made of gold cloth.

"You ever wonder what I did with my stipends, Otto?" Frederick asked, hands buried in the pockets of his kilt.

Otto's eyes widened, almost imperceptibly, and he threw up a hand. Frederick whipped one hand at Otto, and one up at Gruthark. A handful of small gold nuggets flew at each of them, moving as fast as bullets. A translucent pink sphere appeared around Otto, against which the bullets splattered harmlessly. Gruthark swatted at them, but the gold flattened against his face, covering one of his eyes.

Jim ran toward Otto as Frederick flicked an arm, gold along his forearm shifting into a spiked blade attached at his elbow. They made a nice approximation of a coordinated strike, Jim coming in low, and Frederick high, but Otto flickered out of existence. Jim spun toward Gruthark; he saw Otto perched on the larger troll's shoulder as Gruthark joined their fists and slammed downward toward Jim and Frederick.

"Can you fly?" Frederick asked.

"Wha-?"

Frederick slung his unspiked arm around Jim's waist and flicked out his other arm; gold twisted and snapped together like thread. The rope or whatever tensed, yanking Jim and Frederick up, angling toward the roof of the nearest set of shops. It took a moment to settle when Frederick dropped Jim, sadly not enough time to plan a defense, given Gruthark was tall enough to _vault_ after them, and Otto could teleport.

Gruthark's right eye was still occluded, so Jim braced himself and hurled Daylight toward Gruthark's left. Someone must have been looking out for Jim, because Gruthark, possibly due to his reduced depth perception, didn't dodge enough, and the blade sank into their uninjured eye.

Roaring, Gruthark tore the blade from their eye, crushing it in their grasp, and yanked the gold cover from the other.

And then Otto was on the roof with Jim and Frederick. Jim reached out his hand to summon Daylight-

And nothing happened.

"What-"

"Oh, Herr Trollhunter," Otto crooned, "is something the matter?" Otto's pink bubble blocked a trio of strikes from gold spikes extending from Frederick's knuckles; Otto, however, didn't turn away from Jim. "Didn't you realize what would happen when my mistress put out the sun?"

"She'll kill everything-"

" _Because there is no more daylight_ ," Otto hissed, before throwing his head back, laughing.

Frederick shoved gold claws into the surface of the roof and tugged; the claws, lengthened, pulled up a dozen feet of brick, sending Otto stumbling back and off the roof. He appeared on Gruthark's shoulder a moment later, sneering at Jim and Frederick.

"Any bright ideas, Trollhunter?" Frederick asked, glancing at Jim's empty hands..

"Yeah." Jim spread out his claws, calling the heat from the gemstones in the Amulet to coat them, so he wasn't _defenseless_. "Don't die."

\---

Claire, perched at the top of Town Hall, tilted her head when she heard Rico's voice. "Hey, uh, things are getting a little hairy downtown. We got Gruthark and Otto holding down Jim and-"

"Not our first priority. I need to know about civilians in trouble," Claire retorted. "And you're supposed to be reporting to Kellor."

"Nuh-uh, _Mary's_ supposed to be reporting to Kellor. _I'm_ supposed to keep up that weird scrying spell."

Claire nodded, before remembering Rico couldn't see her. "The form of a spell comes in part from intention, and I wanted Mary to be keeping watch-"

"I just think it probably voids the warranty on her phone - and _definitely_ is against the Terms of Service for her Twitter account."

"Rico - is Mary looking for civilians?"

"We're civilians too, you know. Didn't join any military-"

"Is this really the time?"

Rico huffed. "You're okay, right?"

"Yeah, no problems on my - huh."

" _What_? Mary, check out anyone near Claire's-"

"Don't worry - I've got it," Claire said. She flicked out the Shadowstaff, hopped through the portal it created, and fell out just above the pavement in front of the movie theater. A pair of teenagers, one sprawled in a position that looked just uncomfortable enough for them to have broken something, stood in a wide circle of trolls - not Krubera, not Quagawumps, and not the mindless Gumm Gumm warriors.

"Heyyyy, everybody. If you're peaceful trolls, we've got a couple of safehouses around the city to bunker down during the fight. I can connect you with our general if you're here to help fight Morgana-"

Claire sent the first troll who charged at her stumbling straight into the Shadow Realm before glaring at the rest of them.

"Attacking during parley? Are we really doing this?" Claire set two portals into place as two groups charged at her; three trolls collided when they discovered the portals were the two ends of a pair. She rolled her eyes and looked to the injured kids, waving them toward her.

One of the kids, pale, white-haired, hefted up the other, tugging them toward Claire, who suddenly recognized them. "Aja Tarron? _Krel_?"

"Hello, Claire," Aja said as she settled Krel against her legs, standing to look around at their attackers. "How are you?"

"What are you doing out here?"

"It is a long story," Aja murmured. "We thought we could help in the fight against Morgana, but our weapons are not as effective as we'd hoped they would be."

"Jamie's suggestion of solid iron would have turned out better," Krel muttered. He suddenly looked up and around at their attackers, who just kept a wide circle. "What's going on? Why aren't they attacking?"

"They're waiting for something," Claire said. "Come on-"

She dropped them on the roof of the hospital; there was no indication it had been breached, so they should be safe.

"Dr. Lake's supposed to be running things in there," Claire said, "so you should be fine." When she turned to go, a hand clamped around her wrist, and she paused, turning. Aja was holding her, eyes narrow in concentration.

"I need to help, Claire," Aja said.

"Look, we'd love help, but you're not a wizard or a warrior or-"

"I am Princess Aja of the House Tarron, of Akiridion 5," Aja said. "I have trained in three forms of unarmed combat, and in the use of the Serrator, although that appears remarkably unhelpful against these trolls."

This was not the time to freak out about the existence of extraterrestrials, or argue with said extraterrestrials whether they could defeat evil sorceresses, so Claire sighed and shifted Aja's grip up to her shoulder. "Will you be okay?" she asked Krel.

"It's just a sprain, I should be fine. Aja-"

"I'll be careful," Aja promised.

"Now," she said, as she turned back to Claire, "Where are we going?"

"Give me a second," Claire said. "Rico?"

"You got your civilians safe?" Rico asked.

"Yeah - what's going on out there?"

"Uh, well, we've got a bead on Grendel - he's got Steve and Aaarrrgghh tied up. But Mary can't find Eli, which means Kellor, Bular, and Draal are, well." Claire shivered. They'd had a plan, and it did _not_ involve two full-blooded trolls trying to kill Gunmar.

Claire's eyes flicked to Aja, a self-professed extra-terrestrial. A warrior.

"You said you want to fight?" Claire asked. "Because we've got someone who needs fighting."

"Morgana?" Aja asked.

Claire paused. "Where did you hear that name?" She shook her head; this was _not_ the time. "As far as we can tell, you'd have _zero_ chance of getting out of that alive. No, we're trying to take out the leader of the Gumm Gumms, and that means we need someone not of this world…"

\---

Bular knocked a knot of Gumm Gumm warriors aside, giving Kellor an opening to get in close to where Draal and Gunmar were dueling. Blinky was laying down wider cover, but there were too many Gumm Gumms to keep off of whoever was fighting Gunmar.

And it wasn't like Bular didn't understand the urge to just stab Gunmar in the face until he stopped moving, but there had been a _plan_. One that did not involve letting a full-blooded troll try to kill Gunmar with a _sword_.

But Draal had taken one look at Gunmar, marching at the head of a fucking _army_ , and charged.

The only thing that was keeping Draal alive, Bular guessed, was Stricklander's sniping, although the arrival of a flock of gargoyles and a trio of stalklings was eroding his effectiveness at that.

They'd had a _plan_ , but Toby was missing, _Eli_ was missing, and Bular was pretty certain even if Kellor joined in, Draal wouldn't have a chance of beating Gunmar. Bular tore through a warrior, scattering stone shards around him, scanning their surroundings. The Krubera fought with a ferocity Bular had never seen in Aaarrrgghh, holding back the true warriors of Gunmar's army. But without a creature who was neither human nor troll, neither natural born nor _created_ , without a weapon that was neither part of the body nor a crafted tool, Gunmar _would not_ fall.

"Now would be the time for any surprises you have planned!" Bular shouted.

And, fighting Draal (not on the defensive, but not trying to overwhelm him), Gunmar grinned. "For your treachery, you deserve death, but I think this once, son, I will give you what you ask." And he slammed into Draal, knocking the other troll down, and swung the Decimaar Blade around to hold just in front of Draal's face.

"I think the Eclipse Knights could do with another shake-up in their leadership, don't you?" Gunmar sneered.

Draal grunted and rose to his feet, eyes glazed as he turned to Kellor.

"You have _got_ to be kidding me!" she snapped. "Draal, you better snap out of this _before_ you kill me, do you hear? That is an order!"

"He is taking his commands from _me_ ," Gunmar growled.

"Hey, here's a command! _Go to hell_!" A blast of blue-white energy slammed into Gunmar's back; he stumbled, but was already turning as he caught his feet, glowering up when he saw what Bular did.

Two human girls, Claire, Shadowstaff held at the ready, and a pale girl standing with her, holding a strange device out toward Gunmar.

"I'm afraid I take commands from _no one_ ," Gunmar replied. "Though if you wish, I can easily send _you_ to hell in my place."

And Bular knew he had no chance; everything he knew about fighting he'd learned from his father, and the prophecy was clear that no troll would kill Gunmar. But Bular was already dead, had abandoned his father and the Gumm Gumms, had broken bread with the Trollhunter (eaten the Trollhunter's cheesecake, actually, but it made little difference). Had grown to understand why his brother had turned away from Gunmar.

And the reason for all this was that they - trolls and humans - had to share this planet, and that meant standing up for each other when the others were weak.

So Bular threw himself into Gunmar, forcing his father to stumble, fall, from the impact. And as Gunmar turned on him, Bular raised his swords, hoping that in dying, he would at least give his allies a chance to regroup, to kill Gunmar themselves.

\---

Eli was passing the high school when he heard wings. Not just of one creature, even a particularly large one. Not a dozen, or a hundred.

And Eli looked up to see hundreds, a thousand, crows, descending to earth. When everything had settled, they stood around him in a wide circle, three feet between him and the nearest crow on any side.

"Raum?" he asked.

"In the flesh," a voice croaked. The crows on Eli's right parted to allow an unremarkable crow to hop forward.

"So, what is this?" Eli asked. "Everyone else fights big, dangerous trolls, and Morgana sends a crow after me?"

Raum croaked out a stuttering laugh. "Is that what you think? You broke Morgana's _glamour_ ; she was fucking _terrified_ of you until she figured out what you are. I could've told Otto what a bad idea it was going after your mom, though. On that note...where is she?" The question sounded casual, but the twitch of Raum's head as he peered around their surroundings belied his lack of concern.

"Still, it's a little disheartening," Eli said, "making me fight you...and a murder of crows."

"What? Jeez, they're not here to fight; they're here to watch. I'm sort of a hero among crow-kind." At a squawk from Raum, the crows scattered, settling on the trees, power lines, wherever a crow would fit. "You're fighting me, and let me tell you, that is not the soft option. Like you, I'm more than I seem. Morgana made sure I learned dragon magic - any ideas why?"

Eli shook his head.

"Because I was supposed to be a match for _Merlin's_ familiar."

"Archimedes?"

Raum chuckled. "Sure, if you want to call him that."

"He's an _owl_."

"Owl- _shaped_ ," Raum corrected. "He's like your mother that way, the dragon Kilgharrah. _Tiid Klo Ul_!" The crow sailed into the air, moving fast, faster than he should have, spinning in a circle as he rose. " _Strun Bah Qo_!"

The air went dry, staticky, and though he moved like he was pushing through syrup, Eli leapt out of the way just before lightning struck.

" _Krii Lah Paal_!" Eli retorted, the words still strange and stilted, but the power rising from his breast anyway. The earth shook as Raum fell back with a squawk, slowing as his storm and speed magic fell away.

" _Ven Gaar Nos_!"

" _Gron Kopaan Gol_!" As the air around Eli whipped into a frenzy, he felt a weight settle him lower toward the earth, and he took a step toward the crow.

" _Fo Krah Diin_!" Ice spun from Raum's breath, chilling Eli's skin.

He took a deep breath and hissed, " _Faad Yol Kopraan_ ," and warmth blossomed within Eli. He looked up at grinned at the crow, who fluttered back. "Is that all you have?"

"Well, no," Raum replied. "I was just trying to be _nice_. _**Joor Zah Frul**_!"

Eli had spent every free moment since discovering his heritage studying the language - because a dragon's words could reshape the world around them. Pure dragons were ageless, and all but immortal. When a dragon fought another dragon, though, there was a word they used to weaken their opponent, steal from them the strength that made a dragon...a dragon, for lack of a better word.

But if you had an iron will, boundless confidence, a rock-solid understanding of who you were, there was a word to counter it, to _silence_ an enemy. " **Vo-Thu-um** ," Eli murmured, and the world around him went silent. For a moment, there was no sound - not the croaks of the audience of crows, not the shifting of the air, not Eli's own heartbeat.

And then, " _Feim Zii Gron_." Raum, translucent around the edges, took to the air. "I am _not_ being paid enough for this," the crow complained. "You wanna get yourself killed by Gunmar, go ahead. But don't say I didn't warn you."

Something about the encounter left Eli feeling strange, something about Raum's behavior. He'd acted like he wanted to fight, only to run the moment things stopped going his way. It didn't feel like what an extension of Morgana's will would do.

Unfortunately, he didn't have time to wonder. He broke into a run, heading toward City Hall.

\---

"I cannot say I'm impressed with this mode of transportation."

Startled by the sudden voice, James Lake swerved, nearly crashing his car into the trees that lined practically all the roads out of town. He _did_ stop the car, if only to throw out whatever was in his backseat.

...There was a troll in the trunk of his station wage, six-eyed, four-armed, with the arrogant bearing of a Gumm Gumm.

"Um."

"Dictatious Galadrigal, _if you please_ ," the troll snapped. "And this is _pathetic_."

"What is?"

" _You_." The tone was dismissive, something James had gotten used to from "pure-blooded" trolls before he'd abandoned the Janus Order. "You abandoned Morgana, and for what? Not to join Stricklander's crusade, but to - what? Whelp a _half-human_ child? Run from _that_? I suspect you would have had a _much shorter_ tenure if Archimedes had succeeded in making _you_ the Trollhunter."

"Are you done tearing apart my character? I have places to be."

"Places to _run from_ , more like it. No. I'm _not_ done. You are a coward and a failure and a terrible father and I am offering you a chance to do something about that."

"Which one?"

Dictatious snorted. "Pick one. You know your son is fighting back there."

"Yes, and?" James demanded. "He made it pretty clear he didn't want to see me."

"His _mother_ is helping. Will you just _run_ , when your son needs you? He doesn't know it, he doesn't want it, but he _needs you_ to make sure he doesn't lose more of his family."

James felt a clench of _fear_ in his breast. "Barbara?"

"Of course not - were there not a prophecy declaring otherwise, Barbara Lake would be among the best candidates for Gunmar's doom. You forget, James, that Barbara is not Jim's only family."

"She is - it was just her and her uncle Umber-"

"Creating a changeling is an act of violence that tears _two_ families apart," Dictatious went on. "The parents of the human child you replaced - and the troll family from whom you were torn."

"What?"

"You will return, James Lake, and help me save your brother's soul so your son isn't forced to kill him. Or I promise - _I will find a way to make you suffer so you wish you were dead_."

\---

"Are you alright?"

Darci groaned, shifting to her side. "Five more minutes, Dad."

"This isn't - safe. You need to get up."

Weary and warm, Darci waved vaguely at the voice, pausing, however, when her hand ran into something hard and rough.

Something cold.

She opened her eyes, confused for a moment before she realized she was looking at the canals, but at an angle because she was flat on the ground. A boy, vaguely familiar, slim, pale, dark-haired, watched her with gold eyes (like a troll, but changelings couldn't take human form anymore).

The boy gave her a smile, relieved, like he'd been actually worried. "Do you know where you are?"

"Yeah, I'm-" Darci jerked her head around, eyes fixed on the doorway to Trollmarket, which hung open. She was supposed to be watching for Morgana, who no one had seen since the sun had gone out (in other cities, other countries, the sunless sky, the darkened moon, was causing panic). But Darci had fallen _asleep_ -

"Ensorcelled," the boy concluded. "A nasty bit of blood magic. In the right hands, this could fell a dragon."

Darci didn't know if he was trying to make her feel better, but it didn't quite work. "As comforting as it is that there's someone that dangerous running around out here, I've got a job to do-"

"She isn't here," the boy said. "She might have made the changelings, but she's a daughter of air and darkness - she'll be where she can breathe."

Darci felt a flutter of anxiety - she wasn't sure if it was the boy's casual knowledge of their plans, or the fact Morgana wasn't where they thought she was. "Who _are_ you?"

"You can call me Douxie, because we _really_ don't have time for the full story." He pushed himself up and took a step toward Trollmarket before pausing, looking back to Darci. "I know you don't know me, and I'm creeping you out, but I need you to do me a favor."

"What?" Darci asked.

"You need to find them and tell them not to kill her."

"...Kill…"

"Morgana," Douxie said.

"I think they're way past feeling merciful," Darci retorted.

"It's not about mercy. It's not about what she deserves, or what her crimes are. It's just...facts. If Morgana dies, the rest of us are screwed."

"When you say screwed-"

"Does a Class 6 Apocalypse mean anything to you?"

"...No?"

"Regardless, trust me when I say she has to survive this, for all our sakes." And Douxie turned back to the cavern.

"And what will you be doing, while I'm running errands?"

"If I'm lucky," Douxie replied, "keep things from getting too bad if _you_ fail."

\---

Morgana had conjured a throne, a great chair of crystal, on which she was sprawled, watching Arcadia Oaks burn below her. The sorceress had been still, quiet, since she had called down the fury of the Gumm Gumms on Arcadia, and Zelda was finding it difficult to remain still. She itched to - 

Fight. Or draw Morgana _away_ from the fight, or understand why every living thing on Earth had to burn for her anger.

"I expected you to be down there, Lady," Zelda said, at last.

"He isn't there." Morgana shifted, peering down at the distant fighting. "I would have thought Merlin would rise to their defense."

"If he is anything like my mother told me, I wouldn't expect him to be roused for anything less than an attack against his person. And even then, he'd rather bolt than fight. Maybe...you should turn your attention away from all this-" Zelda waved at the sky, at Arcadia. "Find a different angle."

Morgana's eyes suddenly lit as she bolted up from her seat. "Of course!"

"What?"

"There's no way I can dig Merlin out of whatever hole he's hiding up in, but there's a way I can get to him here. Kill the Trollhunter, take back the Amulet, make a real goal of _destroying it_...that'll get his attention." Morgana grabbed at the air, tugging a midnight-black cloak from nothingness, sweeping it around her. "Now come on, Zelda. Let's go to _town_."

Given that Zelda's job had been to keep an eye on Morgana and do what she could to keep the sorceress from doing something wild without warning, Stricklander was going to be _furious_ , presuming they all survived this.


	13. Awakening

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The fight against Morgana reaches its climax, and the Trollhunter's duty comes to an end.

There was a bridge crossing over an empty canal that led to Arcadia. Something had struck the supports of the bridge, leaving it sagging and unsteady, which was why Jamie had stopped the car before crossing. He and Wumpa stood side-by-side, Aster held loose against Jamie's chest, watching the dark city.

Well, _Jamie_ was watching the city, trying to pick out some sign of what was happening there. There were occasional fires among the half-lit streets, and distant motion, but he'd have to get close to see more.

"Don't even think about it," Aster grumbled.

Jamie winced at the Pooka's insinuation. "I wasn't!"

"We've been on the road how long?" Aster asked. "I could hear it in your fucking heartbeat - you want to run in there and save everyone. But we _can't_. We've got one Quagawump troll-"

"Beat Clyde Palchuk," Wumpa interjected, sounding sulky.

"One Pooka with hardly any magic to his name, and a teenager who is _not prepared_ for this fight. We can't help!"

Wumpa's head jerked up, nose twitching as she sniffed at the air. "Trolls," she said.

"Good trolls or bad trolls?" Jamie demanded, heart racing.

The look Wumpa gave him was unimpressed. "Can't tell by _smell_." She sniffed at the air again. "Human, too."

And indeed, a moment later, a troll barreled out of the trees, running, something tucked under their arm. They were huge, larger than Wumpa, grey and bearing a mane that was dark against the moonless sky, clambering hurriedly down the slopes to the canal below.

Wumpa let out a startled shout, and the troll below stopped, eyes rising to meet Wumpa's gaze.

"Wumpa?"

Wumpa shouted again before diving into a roll down to the bottom of the canal which apparently meant they were doing this. "Where is King Toby?"

"No time!" the other troll called, just before a piercing howl cut through the night.

Jamie had _heard_ the word 'blood-curdling', but had never been able to properly understand it. But at that sound - his skin shivered, his gut tightened, and panic flared, his body twitching as it tried to run. But it was like his muscles, his _blood_ , were solid, weighted down.

And then more trolls burst through the trees. _Dozens_. Most of them were tall, armored, skin carved with identical glowing green runes. At their head, though, was a slender green troll, slavering jaws snapping closed, eyes glowing a yellow color that made Jamie feel a little nauseous.

There was a human in Wumpa's friends arms. He screamed and kicked the troll's side. "Put me down so I can get a fucking _shot_!"

Jamie was still frozen in place, and Aster, too, was still in his arms. The human - who couldn't have been _much_ older than Jamie - stepped back so Wumpa and the other good troll were between him and the rest, and raised a rifle to take potshots at the mass of other creatures. He seemed to be favoring the yellow-eyed one, even though they didn't seem phased by anything the boy did to them.

"It's the eyes," Aster muttered.

"What-" But Jamie was looking, and could see, now, that the yellow-eyed troll's eyes weren't...right. They didn't glow like Wumpa's, but like...a lamp. Jamie _could_ have asked for an explanation; he _wanted_ one, certainly, but Wumpa and the other troll were being driven back toward the bridge, where part of the canal wall had collapsed.

So Jamie took a leap of faith. "Shoot for their eyes!" he screamed.

The other boy spared only a second to look at Jamie before turning, settling his rifle carefully, sighting along it, and then-

The yellow-eyed troll's head snapped back, light sparking from their left eye as they did so. And they howled again; this, however, was a pained sound, something wounded and fearful (and _miserable_ , Jamie thought).

The yellow-eyed troll darted back into the mass of other trolls, seeking cover from the boy with the rifle, but the boy stretched out a hand.

Lightning arced from his hand, sending trolls flying, and the yellow-eyed troll to their knees.

And then the ground beneath Jamie's feet shifted; below, he saw the others stumble, though the yellow-eyed troll used the opportunity to scramble to their feet, getting more distance from the boy with the rifle.

"What was that?"

"Knowing our luck, the Big One - don't think California's had a _big_ earthquake for a while."

But when the ground shook again, it was just a short jolt, and then another, like…

Footsteps.

"Aster? How...big do trolls get?"

"Biggest troll I ever heard of was the Gumm Gumm Queen - twenty meters tall and about as heavy as you'd expect."

Twenty feet away, the ground shattered, falling as the side of the canal exploded out, revealing a creature crouched within whatever tunnel or cave was down there. They took a step forward and stood, unfolding into a massive - a huge - a _colossal_ height (could it be sixty feet? twenty meters? Whatever?). Jamie caught a glimpse of sickly yellow eyes, and then the creature turned toward the trolls in the canals and roared.

The smaller one's roar had been blood-curdling; this one's was _bone-shaking_. Jamie was shuddering, teeth chattering, when the sound died away.

"...Grinhilda?" Aster whispered.

"You _know_ them?"

Beneath them, the massive troll slammed a fist into the ground, sending friend and foe alike scattering from the force of the blow.

" _Knew_ her, yeah. Before - she was the Gumm Gumm Queen. Before her son picked a fight with the wrong warrior king and they both ended up dead." Aster growled, a surprisingly threatening sound from someone so small.

"She...doesn't _seem_ dead." As if to punctuate Jamie's statement, Grinhilda swatted what had previously been the largest troll present aside, sending them tumbling into Wumpa and sending both sprawling.

"Her _body's_ dead; it's being animated by Blood Magic and whatever dark spirit responded to the call of the mage who raised her!" And Jamie had heard stress, worry, fear, irritation, frustration from Aster, but had never heard him _angry_ , spitting out the words like they were punches, like he was considering throwing down with Grinhilda despite being like a foot tall. Jamie felt a little intimidated, despite being certain Aster wouldn't do anything to hurt _him_.

Aster took a slow, steady breath. "Put me down, Jamie."

Jamie started, arms tightening briefly around the Pooka. "You aren't going to _fight_ -"

"I most certainly am," Aster snarled, actually nipping at Jamie's finger so he dropped Aster. Aster landed lightly, but his sides were heaving as he glowered down at the canals, where Wumpa had curled up into a ball and her friend bouncing her off of Grinhilda like a soccer ball. "I came to this planet to get _away_ from _fucking Blood Mages_ , and here they are running around _raising the dead_ and _killing stars_ , and I am **sick to death** of it!"

"Dude, you are like a _foot_ tall, and you said you've got like no magic-"

"Jamie, when this is over, I need you to get me somewhere safe," Aster said, like he wasn't even _listening_.

" _Safe_? You're gonna get yourself killed! And I ran away from home - I _kept_ running - to keep you and Wumpa safe!"

Aster took another slow breath and looked up at Jamie, eyes gleaming in the darkness, a strange green light that curled around his eyes. "You're right - I've barely got any energy left. But if there's any time to use that up, it's now - end-of-the-world, last-minute stuff. But I'm going to be...weak, after. I'm going to need someone to look out for me, to watch my back. I need to know you can do this, Jamie."

Jamie shook his head. "There's _monsters_ out here, and-"

"You think I'd ask if I had _any doubt_ you could do it?"

Still working his way through a dozen objections, Jamie snapped his mouth closed, a strange tightness in his chest. He searched Aster's expression for what, a sign of insincerity, of the doubt Aster insisted he didn't have. When he found none of that, Jamie nodded, once, jerkily.

"I owe you one," Aster replied, and hopped forward. But between jumping and landing, he changed, his body stretching up, shedding the form of a normal rabbit for something properly bipedal, standing up on two powerful legs. Aster in his proper shape, six or seven feet tall, was blockier, and when he stepped forward, moved with a confidence absent from his normally weakened state. Aster grabbed at the railings between them and the slope down into the canal and snapped a six-foot length away with a twist of his wrist. He half-turned then, and gave Jamie a wink.

Aster then launched himself off the edge with a ululating war cry that though it had none of the volume or power of the trolls' howls, still carried. It was almost musical, like a fanfare, and at the sound of it, Grinhilda turned. Sickly yellow eyes flickered for a moment, and the troll stilled.

And then a blue-gray alien warrior collided with her chest, broken end of the metal railing striking home into her flesh. Like the way the other troll had taken a dozen bullets to no effect, Grinhilda seemed unfazed by the guardrail shoved into her chest, but Aster used the bar as a platform to spring up at her face, and at this, Grinhilda finally moved, swinging a hand around to swat at Aster. But despite being centuries out of practice, Aster dodged as if it were second nature, catching hands around Grinhilda's wrist and using the momentum of her arm to swing up to land on her shoulder. A swift kick probably didn't actually daze the undead troll, but it gave Aster a moment to clamber up and grab at her eyes-

A dark pinpoint of light sparked at the heart of her left eye, before splitting into a web of black lightning; it jumped along Aster's limbs, sending him twitching, jerking, and falling away from Grinhilda. He hit the ground rolling, but the impact looked jarring nonetheless, and Aster was still for a moment after his rolling stopped.

Grinhilda, though, appeared to have recovered from whatever shock the sight of a seven-foot-tall rabbit-like alien throwing himself at her like he had the slightest chance of being able to defeat her had caused, and stomped forward, likely to crush Aster. Wumpa's friend rammed Grinhilda's ankle, causing her to stumble and twist her head to glare at them.

"Are you _protecting_ him?" Grinhilda demanded, swiping a hand down to grab at the troll. She lifted them, struggling, to eye level. "Do you know who he _is_?"

"Wumpa's friend!" the troll growled. "Helping fight _you_."

"Oh, yes. Lord Aster _does_ hate us, doesn't he? Those who heeded Usurna's warning and sought to ensure our people's survival with or _without_ him."

"Without… _Lord_?" Wumpa's friend's voice was wary, confused. "What do you-"

"Has it been so long you have all _forgotten_?" Grinhilda demanded. "This is Lord Aster of the Flowers!" She pointed at where Aster had landed, but he wasn't there. Her eyes widened as she swung her head around to find him.

"First rule of fighting a Pooka - _never take your eyes off them_." Lightning lanced out of thin air, catching Grinhilda full in the chest, sending her stumbling, Wumpa's friend falling from her grasp. Aster appeared, again from thin air, a moment later, next to where Wumpa and the other human had built a small barricade of rubble against the other trolls. The boy had used a lightning attack, Jamie realized - perhaps he'd passed a tool along to Aster.

Aster sprinted toward Grinhilda, and something in his movement had changed. A few trolls grabbed at him, but Aster sidestepped them easily - seemed to move away from them before the trolls moved themselves. And when Grinhilda slammed a fist into the ground, Aster wasn't there, already swinging around to grab, leap onto an arm.

"A Phylactery - are you such a hypocrite, Lord Aster, to use Blood Magic when you decry _my people's_ customs?"

A palm slammed into the side of Grinhilda's head, sending a jolt of electricity along her spine, which, undead or no, at least made her body jerk unevenly.

"You can't _kill_ me that way, Lord Aster - surely you know enough about Blood-" Grinhilda's right eye shattered; it took a long, silent moment, but then she threw her head back, howling. Having never been raised from the dead, Jamie couldn't imagine what having a part of the gem (presumably) keeping you alive shattered felt like, but he winced anyway, because Grinhilda's scream hinted at it.

The guy with the gun lowered his rifle, and was digging around in a bag, presumably for bullets, which exposed him, briefly, to the lanky green troll sprinting toward him.

But at the shot, Jamie flew into motion. He might not be a troll, or even have a real weapon (and maybe should be staying out of the way so he could watch Aster's back when he burned himself out), but he couldn't just stand by while this happened. As he ran, Jamie dug into his backpack, and grinned when his hand closed around cool metal. There was a reason a gaggletack - an iron horseshoe - was considered an essential tool for the explorer of the supernatural. It could expose certain shapeshifters, was useful in certain protective rituals, and, of course, in a pinch, it was five pounds of solid iron.

Jamie made use of the latter property, winding up to pitch the horseshoe at the incoming troll. It didn't do any _damage_ , obviously, but the force of it made them stumble.

They caught themselves and rose, snarling, but in the moment the troll had stumbled, the other boy had dropped his rifle. And as the troll straightened from their crouch, the boy raised a handgun, trained on the troll's right eye.

Jamie would have hesitated; even knowing the troll was a cannibal zombie (neither word was technically accurate, but they got the point across), he would have suffered a moment of doubt. But the other boy pulled the trigger without hesitation, turning back toward Grinhilda as the zombie troll's right eye shattered and their body fell, skin stiffening to dead grey stone.

Aster pushed off from Grinhilda's shoulder, rolling, almost like a troll, when he hit the ground. Wumpa and her friend formed a perimeter between Aster, Jamie, the other boy, and the rest of the trolls, giving them enough breathing room that when Grinhilda slammed her fist down, _all_ of them had time to evade. But as Grinhilda's fist came down on the other boy's dropped rifle, Jamie suspected hitting _them_ hadn't been her goal.

"Fuck!" the other boy shouted, before letting out a guttural shout. "I'm going to need a hand up-"

"Don't worry about it; I've got this." Aster patted the other boy on the shoulder and then stepped away, ducking to pick something off the ground. "Remind me to replace your gaggletack, Jamie, if we get out of this alive." Brows furrowing in concentration, Aster squeezed his hands gently around the horseshoe, tugging it until it was smoothed out a little, only slightly bent.

Turning in place, he crouched, cocked his arm, and hurled the former gaggletack up toward Grinhilda. He sprang after the projectile, just a little to the left; Grinhilda dodged away from Aster and the projectile, smirking as Aster hit the side of the canals, at least until the bent gaggletack curved around and struck her in the back of the skull. In that moment, Aster leapt, catching the gaggletack (the _boomerang_ ) as it fell away from Grinhilda, and landing on her back, scrambling up as she tried to catch her balance, avoiding her scrabbling hands with ease.

Grinhilda tucked her head in, then and rolled forward, forcing Aster to leap aside rather than be crushed by her bulk. She barrelled forward, plowing through Wumpa and her friend, skidding to a halt among the other trolls. She stood slowly, one hand pressed against her shattered right eye, smiling.

"What've you got to smile about, Hildy?" Aster drawled, sauntering toward the line of trolls, tapping his boomerang against his thigh. He sounded relaxed, almost _happy_ , something of a surprise, given he'd been running from anything approaching a fight for centuries. "Your son is dead - _again_ \- and you're one eye down."

"That may be true," Grinhilda replied, "but you forget one of the most important rules about Blood Magic - you can't count out a mage who still has someone they can _sacrifice_."

Around her, the trolls - the armored creatures who moved almost mindlessly - began bleeding from their eyes, mouths, skin greying and cracking as they fell to pieces. And when Grinhilda pulled her hand away from her right eye, the empty socket was filled with a pulsing red light. She gave Aster a wide-mouthed, fanged grin.

And Aster was grinning himself, puffing himself up a little as if trying to look threatening. "And you forgot one of the most important rules about fighting Pooka - **never count us out**!"

Grinhilda laughed even as Aster sprinted toward her, turning her red eye toward him. The light flickered, and the dark markings along Aster's fur began to glow red in sympathy. She raised her hand and clenched it into a fist, and the light along Aster's fur went out.

Her eyes widened. "What-"

The moment of distraction was enough; Aster closed the distance between them and leapt, hitting Grinhilda's chest and scrambling up to her face. She raised a hand up to cover her left eye, but Aster didn't move for it. Instead he spoke. He didn't shout, but Jamie could hear his words as clear as if Aster were standing next to him. The words were clearly foreign, were of no language Jamie knew, but somehow he _knew_ what they meant.

" _ **Let these spirits, that have been torn unjustly from their vessels, be unbound from that which compels them**_."

Silence fell in the wake of Aster's speech as he hopped back away from Grinhilda, and for a moment, Jamie thought nothing had happened. And then a spark flared in the depths of Grinhilda's right eye - a spark of white light. In a moment it became a gleaming orb, red bleeding away until the entire eye was blazing with pure white.

The eye fragmented - the vast majority of it winked out, leaving Grinhilda's socket in darkness. But a spark leapt from her eye to Aster, settling against his chest.

Grinhilda snarled. "What did you _do_?"

"Undid what _you_ did," Aster retorted. "It's a trick the Lord Rowan developed when Blood Mages started making nuisances of themselves. It won't work on those tricky stones you got, but a plain old sacrifice - that'll do it." And then he closed in on Grinhilda, boomerang in one raised hand, leaping from ground to hip to shoulder.

Grinhilda snapped her hand around Aster's wrist and lifted him from her shoulder, baring her teeth in a silent snarl. "Even those of us who _knew_ you, Lord Aster, told stories about your exploits. You were a legend, if not a god. And now, after all these centuries, I find you are no better than a _human_ , although I would hope you prove better-tasting."

Aster snorted. "Grinhilda? Eat lead." Grinhilda's body began stiffening, collapsing, before the gunshot even stopped echoing along the canals. Aster landed lightly on his feet next to the collapsing form of the Gumm Gumm Queen; after a moment, however, he fell to one knee.

Aster was twisting, collapsing on himself by the time Jamie arrived, body already a few inches smaller. Aster was grinning, a wild light to his eyes. "You see that, Jamie? It's why no one fucked with the Pooka, why it took Fin the Alchemist and a fucking _army_ to take me down the first time."

"Are you alright?" Jamie didn't _see_ blood, but he could have internal bleeding, or a concussion…

"I'm _fine_ , just...tired. That took a lot...out of me."

Aster slumped, loose-limbed to the ground, back in the shape of an ordinary rabbit, eyes closed and chest moving, though his breaths were shallow, weak. Jamie scooped up the Pooka to hold him close to his chest.

"We've got to get Aster to a hospital!"

"Are you sure he doesn't need a vet?"

"Magic bunny, not normal bunny," Wumpa's friend muttered. "Dr. Lake better than animal doctor."

"Then can we _go_?" Jamie demanded. Aster's heartbeat was erratic, which meant they couldn't sit around wasting time.

The other boy sighed, then made a growling sound. "You take him," he said. "Wumpa, we gotta get downtown; Toby's gonna be there and is gonna need backup."

The large troll scooped Jamie up, much like Jamie had Aster, and, giving Jamie a wide, toothless smile, grunted, "Don't worry, get bunny to Dr. Lake. Just. Hold on to bunny. _I_ got you."

\---

Jim knocked Otto aside with a short burst of air; sword or no, the Amulet was still a Phylactery, so Jim had some defenses, even a bit of offense. The Volcano Heart could coat any weapon, even Jim's artificial spikes, with a blazing aura. The spikes themselves were sharp enough to pierce troll skin, and with the right timing, Jim could deflect projectiles back to their origin.

Frederick had shed most of his armor to forge gold chains bound around Gruthark, tied or sunk into the street to hold the troll down. The process took most of Frederick's attention, as Gruthark could easily shatter _iron_ manacles, so except for Frederick's own mental influence over any gold in his vicinity, Gruthark would have broken free in an instant. Which meant if Jim could just take Otto on his own, they could get to the _real_ fight.

Otto, who could walk on walls, could make Midnight a pair of razor-tipped whips that drained Jim's strength with each hit, could teleport-

Jim tucked and rolled into a mailbox, bouncing off to get an angle to slam into the translucent pink sphere Otto could summon around himself. Jim had yet to find any force he could throw against it to break through. Jim hopped back as Otto retaliated with one of his whips; so dodging, Jim didn't notice the second whip until it wrapped around his leg. He grit his teeth, bracing for the horrible slow drain of his energy, but instead heard a metallic snap, and saw the tail end of the whip falling to the ground.

Jim swung his head around to Frederick, who was returning a coil of gold to its place around his wrist.

Who had taken his attention off of Gruthark.

Gruthark rose with a furious cry, one weak link breaking giving him the leverage to break free entirely. He turned on Jim, one freed arm swinging down on him in a deadly arc, forcing Jim to bring out his own shield, which was _reflective_ , a quality that they'd discovered meant would bounce back anything that struck it. That _included_ fists, so Gruthark fell back a step as the force of his own punch came back at him. But Otto had, Jim suspected, been _training_ , because he appeared behind Jim in that moment, Midnight in two pieces, a sword and whip, snapping the whip around Jim to hold him in place for a follow-up stab.

Jim kicked up, and, armor or no, a kick from a mostly-grown troll had a _lot_ of strength behind it. So Otto crumpled, because he wasn't a fighter, and hadn't learned, as _Jim_ would have if he were a Polymorph, to take forms to protect the more vulnerable parts of his anatomy. 

Jim turned, finding Frederick using threads of gold from his wrists to bounce and swing around Gruthark like Spiderman. But daggers and bullet of gold did little more than scratch Gruthark's hide. They needed a real blade, a real weapon, but without the _sun_ , Daylight wouldn't respond to Jim's call (even at night, even underground, the sun was _there_ , somewhere). Jim leapt, raking at Gruthark's thighs with red-hot claws, falling back to avoid Otto's whips, and looked for an opening, a weapon, a strategy…

"Fred, I need an anchor!" Jim called. And to his credit, Frederick didn't ask questions, just threw out a line to Jim, who wrapped the gold rope around his left hand and ducked into a roll. He called out the spikes, the blazing aura, and began building up speed. He heard a surprised cry from Frederick, and then Jim hit the end of the lead connecting him and swung around in a wide circle as Frederick clued in. Jim slammed into Gruthark's side, spikes piercing the larger troll's skin, and then Frederick yanked at the rope to pull Jim away and throw him in a wide arc at Otto. Jim felt the strangest shift in pressure as he passed through space a moment after Otto teleported away from it, and then Frederick yanked up to send Jim soaring at Gruthark's skull. The larger troll ducked into his own roll rather than try swatting the superheated spikes with his bare hands. 

If Frederick's troll-flail were attached to him by a fixed length of chain, he would have lost almost immediately. But able to change the length of the rope at will, Frederick gained vital maneuverability that gave him an edge as Otto and Gruthark tried to double-team him.

As Otto tried to stab Frederick from behind, Frederick retracted the rope; Jim's weight and momentum meant Frederick was dragged off his feet, lurching away from Otto's attack. When he landed, bracing himself, he swung Jim at Otto again. Jim ricocheted off of Otto's bubble, and he spared a moment wondering why Frederick hadn't expected that.

And then Jim slammed back into Gruthark, not enough to stop Gruthark, but enough that the larger troll bounced off of his trajectory, and that Jim could smell blood.

Frederick wrenched Jim away, pulling him around in a high arc that Jim was certain would bring him down on Gruthark again. There was a jolt, and Jim lost the pull that meant Frederick was controlling his momentum. A flash of what was on the ground (it was _hard_ seeing your surroundings while curled up like this) showed Otto near Frederick, likely holding him with his whips.

And Jim was falling.

 _Hold on,_ Mordred murmured, as Jim shifted. _Otto thinks he's got him, but Frederick-_

Jim was certain Mordred was about to point out what Frederick seemed to remember a moment later, that his control over gold meant he didn't need to be able to _move_ to fling Jim around.

But when Frederick _did_ remember, Jim changed direction with a stomach-churning jolt, swinging low in a curious arc-

And slammed into Otto's back. Otto snarled at the collision, and one whip snapped back around to wrap around Jim's neck. A quick yank pulled Jim out of his ball, and another sent him sprawling on the ground. Otto's foot was on Frederick's chest, and his other whip around Frederick's neck.

"I'd hoped," Otto drawled, "that killing the Trollhunter would involve more fanfare. That it would be _harder_. But in the end, _whatever_ you look like, you're just a human."

"He's not _just_ anything. He's James Fucking Lake, and he's the Trollhunter."

Otto fell forward with a shocked cry, losing his grip on his whips. Jim and Frederick scrambled away at the opening; Jim tried to locate his unexpected savior, but at first just saw the packets on the ground next to Otto.

Beanbags?

A trail of smoke caught Jim's attention; when he looked, it was to see smoke trailing behind something, soaring through the air at Gruthark, who'd hesitantly uncurled from his ball. The object bounced harmlessly off of his chest, but as the smoke spread, engulfing his head, he howled.

 _Tear gas,_ Mordred murmured.

Given Gruthark was clawing at his eyes (even his left could still feel pain), it was probably an accurate assessment. But the only person Jim knew who'd have _tear gas_ was-

"Hey, Jim," Darci drawled. "Need a hand?" She held a bulky rifle (her beanbag gun, Jim guessed) in one hand, and a slim canister in the other; she dropped the latter toward the ground, spraying something at Otto as she passed him. He screamed and curled back up in pain from what Jim presumed was pepper spray.

"Not that I don't appreciate the assist, Darci, but we're not out here to _incapacitate_ them-"

"We sort of are, _Jimbo_. Our job is to win that fight, which is making Morgana and the Gumm Gumms unable or unwilling to continue the fight; we don't have to kill _anybody_." She tugged out a bulky canister and tossed it toward Otto, engulfing him in a cloud like the one that still had Gruthark howling in agony. "Mind, I don't think my preferred tactics are strictly endorsed by the Geneva Convention, but I figure every corpse we _don't_ have to bury at the end of this is a win all its own. Besides, Morgana-"

"Will see your souls suffer in agony until the end of _time_ ," Otto snarled. He rose, slow, heavy, and when he did, Jim saw Otto's eyes were covered in some sort of cloudy membrane, his nose and mouth covered by some sort of organic netting. He snapped out his twin whips, one slicing through Darci's rifle, and the other nearly ensnaring her legs. She hurled the broken gun at Otto and ran at him. When he blocked the projectile with his bubble, she paused, long enough for Jim to drag her back before Otto retaliated with his whips. 

"Jim, we need to get out of here!" Darci said. "We don't have to kill them; we don't even have to _beat_ them! We need to find the others, and make sure they don't-"

The ground shook; Jim caught Darci as she stumbled, settling her at her side as he and Frederick turned to Gruthark. Otto settled on his shoulder, he slammed a fist into one building, turned, taking a heavy step, and slammed into the one across the street. As brickwork and frames fell into rough barricades across the street, Gruthark grinned at Jim.

"If you want to survive this day, Trollhunter, you _must_ kill me!"

_I really hate to agree with a Gumm Gumm, but I think he might be right._

_Well, if you have any bright ideas,_ Jim retorted, _I'd love to hear them._ Mordred was silent. _And on that note - do you have any idea what Darci's worried about?_

_I think we should worry about surviving, first._

Mordred, who had a _knack_ for telekinesis, Jim had discovered, used Jim's hand to drag Darci behind them.

"Watch my back!" Jim yelled at Frederick, and jumped at Gruthark. Gruthark was bleeding from Jim's prior attacks (Frederick's, really, but Jim felt he deserved some credit for the idea, as well as being the head of the troll-flail), so Jim felt a tiny spark of optimism.

And then Gruthark's voice rumbled out, a gravelly sound from deep in his chest. " _Yol_ ,"

 _Out of the way!_ Mordred yanked at Jim, making him land awkwardly, painfully, scrambling to the side as Gruthark continued.

" _Toor shul_!" Gruthark spat a bullet of flame (well, more like a _cannonball_ ) out, missing Jim's current position by less than a foot. He twisted around, already speaking again. " _Yol toor shul_!" Another blast of flame missed Jim because he could take a hint and was rolling away as soon as Gruthark began speaking.

Frederick was running on Gruthark's far side, low, fast, armor unwinding into chains, and Darci, bless her, stood to her full height, glowering up at Gruthark. Jim wondered if Frederick had put her up to this, or if she was just that reckless.

"Hey!" Darci shouted. "Which of you fuckers is in charge here?"

"I am one of Morgana's closest advisors," Otto replied.

"I am Gunmar's greatest general," Gruthark said at the same time.

And the two trolls paused and gave each other long, assessing looks.

"Look, I need an answer, here," Darci continued. "I'm just an innocent bystander here; I'd like to know who I can surrender to."

"Surrender? There will be _no_ surrender!"

"We have not taken the world _yet_ ," Otto chided. "We will need leverage - captives, land-"

"Do not lecture _me_ on strategy!" Gruthark snarled.

Jim watched on, impressed. Darci had received detention several months ago for not, apparently, paying attention to their Greek mythology unit in English class, but given she'd _flawlessly_ replicated Discord's instigation of the Trojan War, the accusation may have lacked merit.

 _Yeah well, let's try to get something done while she's got them distracted. Do you see a sword anywhere?_ Mordred asked.

_A sword._

_Or an axe, or glaive, whatever. Toby has expounded on your poor hand-eye coordination or I'd suggest a gun-_

_Where did you get the idea that there are swords just lying around your average suburban downtown? You_ lived here _for a couple weeks._

Mordred was quiet for a moment, and Jim worried he'd upset the other boy. _I meant something sword-_ shaped _. It's a half-assed sort of magic, but I can make anything you pick up sturdy enough to hit Gruthark a couple of times._

_Can you make it sturdy enough not to melt if Gruthark uses more dragon magic?_

_...Well, no. I was planning to bank on your superior troll reflexes._

Jim looked to his left, where six feet of rebar stuck out of a half-collapsed wall. Whatever the rest of it meant for him, troll strength was pretty awesome, as it took only a moment of focus for Jim to tear the rebar free of its mooring.

"Shut up! We are not having this conversation! The child is _wasting our time_!"

At that exact moment, Gruthark made a choked noise as Frederick looped a thick gold cable around Gruthark's neck and tightened it so he couldn't speak - could barely breathe, given the way he fought against the collar. Gruthark flailed downward, but with the pressure on Gruthark's throat, Frederick was easily able to evade him. Jim saw Otto, bracing himself against Gruthark's neck, glowering down.

And then he vanished. Jim swung his makeshift sword around, ready for Otto to appear near him, so the distant shout startled him. Otto held Darci against him, one whip wrapped tightly around _her_ throat.

"Herr Trollhunter! I think this has gone on long enough! Surrender yourself, Trollhunter, or I will be forced to kill your girlfriend here!"

_Girlfriend? Did I miss something?_

_This is_ not _the time, Mordred!_ Jim looked to Otto, to Darci, who was looking a little pale, but not panicked, as she kept one hand against her neck, presumably to lessen the force pressed against her throat.

 _One_ hand…

"Don't hurt him too badly!" Jim called.

Otto's face twisted in confusion. "Hurt _him_? What are you-"

He made a pained squeak and began jerking and twisting to the background of a distant irregular crackling sound. Darci abandoned her taser to put distance between her and Otto, and Jim sprinted at the… _Humanhunter,_ Mordred supplied helpfully. Jim had to hand it to Otto, how quickly he gained the focus necessary to shift to something with skin hard enough that the darts couldn't remain embedded in him. With only the aftershocks of the taser's effects left, Otto turned and summoned his bubble just before Jim slammed his length of rebar into it. 

"Have you learned nothing, Trollhunter?" Otto taunted. "You have no proper weapon, and so anything you can throw against me, I can block. _You cannot win_."

Jim let the bar fall, took a step back, and despite himself, despite the fighting, the desperate push to survive, he felt laughter rising in his chest. So he let it out, drawing a startled look from Otto.

"What's so funny, Trollhunter?"

" _Daylight_ can't beat Gunmar," Jim replied. "I don't have a weapon that'll do it. You've got it stuck in your head that as the Trollhunter, I'm the most important person here. But you had it right, Otto, when you tried to neutralize _Eli_. Dragons aren't natural creatures, and half-dragons less so. I never came here expecting to be the one to beat Gunmar, or even Morgana. I came here to _support my friends_!"

Jim swung his improvised sword at Otto, who flared the bubble again.

Jim's weapon crashed into the bubble _and cut through it_. Otto threw out an arm; Jim felt a blow and when Otto fell back, saw a deep score along the armguards. Confused, Jim looked down at his weapon.

It wasn't rebar.

It was a blade he'd seen once before, silver inset with veins that sparkled like stars, with a sturdy hilt.

 _Excalibur,_ Mordred whispered; Jim could feel the hesitance, the awe, in his friend's thoughts. And of course Mordred would recognize his father's sword. Jim wanted to ask, wanted to know what had happened here. But they didn't have time, and Jim finally had a weapon. He leapt at Otto, who vanished. Jim heard a pained scream, and turned to find Frederick pinned to the ground, a sword piercing through each of his wings. Otto looked back at Jim with a vicious grin, and Jim felt his anger surge.

He wasn't used to this; of course he was _angry_ , but troll hormones or whatever weren't good at moderation. You were calm or furious, elated or despairing. So Jim's anger at seeing Otto's delight at the unnecessary cruelty of his attack rose in a wave, and Jim was moving without his or Mordred's conscious direction. Jim _roared_ , possibly the first time he'd made that sound, the vicious battle cry of a troll, and made a horizontal slash, presumably to bisect Otto Scarbach. But Otto was gone, because he was a fucking _coward_ and realized he couldn't beat Jim armed with fucking _Excalibur_.

Still, as Gruthark, free of Frederick's garrote, slammed a fist into the ground where Jim had stood a moment before, Jim set his desire to rip Otto's arm off to find out if the Polymorph could regrow limbs aside and hurled himself at Gruthark.

Excalibur was balanced perfectly, moving like an extension of Jim's own limbs. It was a vastly different experience from wielding Daylight, which had a strange weight to it - nothing _physical_ , but a constant reminder of its presence. Gruthark moved to swat Jim aside; he raised his shield to block and swiped at Gruthark in response. The blade sliced through one of Gruthark's fingers without any resistance. Gruthark screamed and slammed his other fist at Jim, kicked at Jim when Jim hopped back. Excalibur, though, cut deep, meaning that just by staying ahead of Gruthark, Jim could respond with slashes across the back of the hand, a cut that came dangerously close to Gruthark's Achilles tendon (he realized at that moment he didn't know if trolls even had an Achilles tendon).

Gruthark seemed to realize that a moment after Jim and rolled up mid-charge, making the fight about staying ahead of a massive ball that threatened to crush him if he made the wrong step (Mordred was humming the _Katamari Damacy_ theme in Jim's head, which was _not helpful_ ).

It was all Jim could do keeping a wide serpentine to avoid Gruthark; if he could get just a moment, he could regroup, but Gruthark was _relentless_ -

Something wheeled out into the street, nearly hitting Jim. He turned, seeing a massive truck (it had an Exxon logo, he realized, distantly) barrelling toward Gruthark. Jim saw a spark, saw a figure diving out of the front cab, and then truck and Gruthark collided.

Jim was going to figure out under what circumstances Mordred, who threw Jim sideways into the shelter of a metal awning, had gotten practice taking cover from explosions, but that was a discussion for a later day, when the debris from a flaming gas truck weren't raining down around them.

 _Come on, come on,_ Mordred called after only a moment of safety. _Even Gruthark didn't get out of that one unscatched._

Gruthark was still _alive_ when Jim emerged from his shelter, albeit scorched, dazed, and moving more slowly than he had before. And Jim could understand Darci's hesitance, but he was certain, now, that Gruthark wouldn't stop unless he were _unable_ to keep fighting, and there was only one way to do that.

Gruthark hadn't risen, but he snapped out a hand and grabbed Jim out of the air as he leapt. Excalibur, though, sliced through his fingers again, freeing Jim to fall to the larger troll's stomach and step forward to cut off the other hand interposed between him and Gruthark's chest.

 _I can do it,_ Mordred said, and that - that made Jim pause, startled or - _touched_ \- by the offer. But he shook his head and stabbed. As he tried to pull the blade free, to escape the flailing of Gruthark's death throes, though, Jim found it stuck - that instead of Excalibur, Gruthark was impaled with a six-foot-long length of rebar.

_Leave it!_

Jim did, retreating to where Darci was providing almost competent care to Frederick's bleeding wings. He waited for some judgment or comment from her, but she just nodded at him.

"Shame we didn't get Otto, too," Frederick said weakly.

"Darci's right, as long as he's not _here_ trying to kill me, I don't care," Jim retorted. "We should get you to the hospital, though."

"Yeah, fuck, I deserve the _best_ painkillers. Or pudding."

"Come on." Jim hoisted the changeling up and looked down to Darci. "Thanks, by the way."

Darci snorted. "I figured it was time to bring my 'A' game. Now let's go; we've got a sorceress to defeat, but that one we _cannot_ kill."

"What? Why?"

"Douxie - you know, from school? - said bad shit'll go down if we do."

"What does he know about this?" Jim demanded. "Why are _you_ acting like he's a good authority on this?"

 _Don't,_ Mordred said, quiet. _I trust him. If he says it's a bad idea...well, he was usually right about that sort of thing._

_Bad ideas?_

Mordred chuckled. _Yeah._

_Mordred? Who's Douxie?_

There was only the slightest pause. _My brother. Galahad._

\---

Eli swung his bike around at Arcadia's main thoroughfare, just next to the movie theater (showing some epic fantasy movie that paled in comparison to what Eli was dealing with right now), breathing hard. Sure, getting to where the Eclipse Knights were engaging Gunmar was important, but Eli wasn't going to be any use to anyone if he couldn't breathe enough to speak, so he let himself relax a moment

When _Steve_ , more or less riding on a Quagawump's back, sped past, Eli shouted out, and the Quagawump paused, turning around. Steve's eyes widened at the sight of Eli.

" _Eli_? What are _you_ doing here?"

"I could say the same of you - you're supposed to be hunting at the perimeter of the town-"

"Oh, I _was_ ," Steve said. "Grendel was trying to find an easy meal, so me and Aaarrrgghh had to fight him. _And_ his mother."

"His - Grendel's mother is _dead_!" Eli protested, before he realized how stupid the statement was. "How-"

"Magic," Steve replied, rolling his eyes. "Dork." He gave Eli a smirk that did _not_ make Eli's chest flutter, because they had a _very important mission to complete_ and did not have time for flirting.

"But get this," Steve added. "Guess who showed up to _help us_?" He was grinning, not a smirk, not the weird, dazed smile Eli had caught him directing at Eli, but something else. Something - young, delighted, enthusiastic.

"I-" Eli huffed, shaking his head. "We _really_ don't have time for guessing games-"

"The _Fucking Lord of Flowers_!" Steve spread his hands out.

"How-"

"He's been hitching with this kid Jamie and Wumpa here. They didn't even know who he was - he looks like this tiny fucking rabbit because he's weak, or whatever, but _he's here_! And a fucking _badass_! Aaarrrgghh got him to the hospital, because beating the shit out of a _sixty-foot-tall_ troll is not a walk in the park."

Eli was still trying to process, to latch onto the idea that they'd come across the Lord of Flowers _by chance_ (but it wasn't really chance - it was the end of the world, and anybody who was anybody was getting in on the action). "Where's this… _Jamie_?"

"He went to watch the Lord of Flowers' - Aster's - back."

"No, I - I've got a friend online named Jamie. He's always trying to track down Bigfoot and trolls and - Pooka and stuff like that. I haven't heard from him in a...while. Do you think-"

"Who the fuck knows - it feels like everyone's coming together, here, so I'd be willing to bet on it. He's _fine_ , though - they're with Dr. Lake."

"Then _we've_ got a rendezvous with Gunmar," Eli said.

"Yeah, the 'rendezvous' thing is a bust," Steve retorted. "I have _no_ idea where all this shit is going down."

"Huh." Eli took a careful breath, finding it came easily. "Stand back."

"What? Why?"

"Because if I'm going to give you a ride, I need space to take off."

"Take-"

" _Komeyt Slen Dovah_!"

Eli's mother had said he wouldn't understand how it felt to shed his human form in favor of the draconic one due to him by his heritage until he did so himself. No other shapeshifter, she'd said, experienced their form quite like dragons. Dragons didn't exist in reality so much as...wear it. So when they changed shape, it wasn't about bending and twisting a body into a new form, but about...changing a shirt for one that fit differently.

The metaphor wasn't perfect, Eli decided, as he felt a stretching, expansion of his - body, or awareness of his body. He didn't _grow_ scales, he thought, so much as becoming _aware_ of the scales his new form had. It was dizzying, although that may have been vertigo from a sudden change in the height from which Eli viewed the world. His head was ten or fifteen feet off the ground, even with the quadrupedal stance that made him feel a little like he was halfway through a pushup. Eli turned his head to peer back at his form, the gunmetal grey scales and the tip of a long tail that Eli found himself able to swing with no effort. He shifted a little and his wings flared - an extra two limbs that Eli flapped a few times just to get used to their movement.

He remembered, abruptly, that he had an audience, and dropped his head down to Wumpa and Steve's levels.

Steve was staring at Eli, wide-eyed, mouth hanging open, and Eli twitched his tail around to curl around himself, feeling suddenly self-conscious. He'd _told_ Steve about this whole thing, but it was one thing to have your boyfriend explain he wasn't 100 percent human, and quite another to see him transform into a sixty-foot-long winged lizard. Steve hadn't known about any of this supernatural shit until the last year, and it occurred to Eli that this, seeing Eli change into something clearly inhuman, might be too much to expect a guy to handle.

"Steve? Don't freak out - it's me. Eli. My mom taught me how to do this - take on a dragon shape, or human one. She said I might be able to take on different shapes when I get more comfortable with it, but, um. It's just me." He ducked his head down a little further, heart beating anxiously, as the silence stretched on. "Steve?"

"Fuck, dude, you look _awesome_."

"I - _really_?" Eli's voice, which _somehow_ failed to change its tenor despite coming from a chest several times its normal size, rose to a squeak, so there was no pretending he wasn't embarrassingly shocked by the declaration.

" _Of course_! You're a fucking _dragon_ , so, first of all, _awesome_ -" (which _had_ been Steve's initial assessment of Eli's revelation) "But like, those scales are like the _coolest_ color, and, um…" The bridge of Steve's nose and his cheeks both pinked a little under Eli's attention. "You look _cool_."

"Ahem," Wumpa said, and Eli felt a clench of acute embarrassment that Wumpa had witnessed this (it was only slightly mitigated by the fact he was pretty certain she didn't care). "Maybe human mating discussion _after_ defeating Gunmar?"

And Eli was actually going to die here as he discovered he _could_ blush in this shape, though he was almost positive it wasn't noticeable.

"Yeah, um. Yeah. Let's go. Where do you want us?"

Eli ducked his head, neck and cheeks both _burning_ as Wumpa's implication gave that question _all sorts_ of other meanings. "Just get on my back." He didn't watch as Wumpa and Steve climbed on, not certain how he'd react to the sight of it. After a minute, Eli asked, "We ready to go?"

"Just give me a second," Steve replied. "I'm about to ride into battle on the back of a fire-breathing dragon. I need to get into the proper mindset for that."

"Well, get there by the count of three, because we are taking off."

It took six attempts, but they were in the air within five minutes. Eli spiraled up, riding on thermals he was vaguely aware he didn't need to fly (dragons couldn't fly at all without magic, and some, he suspected, just let their magic carry their whole weight), until he caught a current that let him hover, the entirety of Arcadia spread out below him. He could see the battle raging below him, clashes between the two factions of trolls, and the movement of small groups punching through the lines. In dragon form, Eli's nightvision was sharp and clear, and so he caught sight of Jim carrying Darci away from the hospital, of Toby arriving at the park in front of City Hall, of the group already there - Claire and Aja, Bular, Draal, Mr. Strickler.

"Hold on!" Eli cried, flapped twice to drive himself forward before folding in his wings to start a plunging dive. He'd been diving only a second before something slammed into him, sending Eli in an awkward, flapping recovery. He spun around, snarling, to come face to face with a trio of stalklings.

Eli's stomach twisted, a knot of fear and anger, before he could _think_.

But when he actually thought he remembered-

 _He wasn't a scrawny human kid_.

" _Yol Toor Shul_!" The words came as easy as breathing, no fumbling with the sharp edges of the dragon language, and with them came a blast of flame from Eli's mouth. A wave of flame crashed into the stalklings, forcing them to scatter amidst the smell of scorched flesh. And Eli dove, roaring with a confidence he had never felt before in his life.

He was a _fucking dragon_ and no one was going to mess with him!

With a pulse of his wings and flick of his tail, Eli drove toward Gunmar, who was fighting three, no, four, trolls. Three of them were almost translucent, smelling of water-glass, and he realized, seeing that each of them looked exactly like Kellor, that she was using the Aspectus Stone to give her the edge, numbers-wise. Eli and Toby were supposed to be helping her, because as skilled as she was, by _prophecy_ , at least, she wouldn't win armed with a forged weapon. But three people, none of them fully human, two of them part troll in ways never meant by nature or Morgana, one a creature that wasn't fully real, armed with supernatural power that couldn't be said to be _spells_ , might.

"Drop us off near Domzalski and we'll help get him there - you get to Gunmar!"

Eli nodded and banked around to where Toby was fighting a dozen trolls - not the hypnotized Gumm Gumms, but a pair of ten-foot-tall, lanky trolls with skin like obsidian, four six-armed cyclopses, and six human-sized trolls that had to be changelings. He fought with the warhammer like he was meant to hold it, moving with dexterity that would've been impossible without the aid of magic. Wumpa leapt from Eli's back with a battle-cry, and Toby hesitated for a moment, looking up in blank shock. They hadn't known what had happened to Wumpa after the coup, so the discovery she was alright must have been a relief.

"Kick ass out there," Steve said.

"Yeah, you too."

"Love you, see you later." Steve jumped after Wumpa, unaware of the shock he'd left Eli in. Because _fuck_. This was-

It was _clearly_ routine or something, because Eli wasn't - Steve _couldn't_...

They were _all_ under a lot of stress, given the end of the world and everything, so Eli resolved to set the subject aside. He had an assassination to see to.

As Eli turned, he heard Kellor's exasperated voice in his ear; she, like Angor Rot before her, had a stone that let her talk across even the loudest battlefield. "Elijah - I need you to keep Draal from killing Bular."

"What? What happened?"

"The Decimaar fucking Blade," Kellor snapped. "If I knew how to break that fucking thing-"

"Well, it's supposed to act as a conduit of its wielder's will - if you could create a backshock by severing a bond the wielder is actively maintaining-"

"Elijah." Eli saw Gunmar cut one of the Kellors in half, and another roll away from one of the duplicates as it ducked another swing of Gunmar's blade. "This really isn't the time."

It sort of _was_ , Eli wanted to protest, because Draal had broken free of the Decimaar Blade before, and it meant he could do it again. He was _certain_ that until someone's will was broken, before they became the puppet Gumm Gumm warriors, Gunmar had to expend effort and focus to keep them under his control.

Regardless, it probably meant Eli was on "save Draal" duty until Kellor said otherwise. As he swung away from Gunmar, he saw a flash of light from roof level, and then three or four bolts of energy nearly missed Gunmar. Eli followed the light to its source, where Claire and… _Aja Tarron_ were perched, the latter laying down cover fire with some sort of energy weapon while Claire dropped anyone who got too close to them into the Shadow Realm.

This was, Eli decided, officially out of his hands.

Claws.

Whatever.

Eli took a moment to seek out Draal, who was fighting Bular, the two moving through the battlefield untouched by combatants unwilling to get between the Eclipse Knight and Gumm Gumm general (their roles reversed for this climactic battle). Eli shoved his way through the battle toward them, sending Gumm Gumms scattering, and after a moment of consideration, turned to Draal.

" _Fus Ro Dah_!" Draal went flying, rising after only a moment after landing, eyes glowing with the dead light of the Decimaar Blade.

"...Elijah?" Bular asked uncertainly.

"Any idea what to do here?" Eli asked.

"I _know_ you don't want me to kill him, but it might become necessary."

"Come on," Eli replied, "You've got to have some idea about this. Draal broke free before-" Speaking of Draal, he was charging at Eli. Rather than knock him back, Eli decided to try something new. " _Kaan Drem Ov_!" It was supposed to sap his opponent's will to fight, but it wouldn't work, he decided, grabbing Bular in a light grip and dodging away from Draal's blades, given Draal was being puppeted by _Bular's_ will.

" _After_ killing Angor Rot; I think you'd prefer we not sacrifice another of our number for a temporary solution."

" _Zun Haal Viik_!" Eli's cry sent Draal's blades flying away from him; after a moment's pause, Bular growled and rolled up, charging with no weapon but his own body. "Look, I get Gunmar wasn't like, a sharer, but you must have picked something up. _Anything_ you might remember could help!"

Bular's face crinkled in thought. "My father...broke them as soon as he could."

It meant it was _possible_ there was a way to break free as long as Draal was still _there_. If anyone had known, it was Angor Rot, but he wasn't _here_. He'd sacrificed himself-

Eli dove aside from Draal's rolling, struggling with a realization that hovered at the edge of his awareness. He swatted Draal aside, seeing Draal bounce to a stop against a tree he ripped from the ground. Draal turned, and came face-to-face with Blinky.

Eli's heart stopped, body tensing to lunge forward, interpose himself between Blinky and Draal.

But Draal turned and charged back toward Eli and Bular.

It came together in a rush, so Eli didn't dodge, taking the blow of a tree trunk to his side. But he could take it, and he _had it_. Gunmar had seen it, after the last battle. What had broken Draal free was the emotional backlash from killing his mentor. In light of that, Gunmar wouldn't risk sending Draal against his friends. Sending him against an enemy, though…

Eli, though, couldn't risk gambling on who counted as a good enough friend to break Draal free of the Decimaar Blade. His father was dead, his mentor was dead, the leader of his community dead…

" _Trollhunter_!" Gunmar bellowed, and the battle paused. Jim, troll shaped, hopped down from the rooftops, Darci balanced on his shoulder. Still, Gunmar, _everyone_ , was looking at Jim. It was enough to give a guy a complex, how Gunmar was more worried about _Jim Lake_ than the _dragon_ who was here to wreck his shit. Draal shifted, eyes fixed on Jim, and burst into motion.

And _fuck_ , Eli had not thought of that; Jim's troll shape was new, unfamiliar. Draal had always viewed the Armor of Daylight warily, and might not see the troll shape in it as a friend. Eli was too slow, trailing behind Draal as he charged at Jim.

He was close enough, though, to see Draal slow, pause, staring at Jim with empty eyes. Draal's hands clenched around the tree trunk, wood splintering under the grip. 

But the moment passed. Draal swung the tree back to sweep at Jim-

A grey station wagon crashed through the park, sending trolls of both factions scattering. It ran into a bench, but before the bang of the airbags deploying could die away, a troll kicked their way out of the car. They looked like Jim - a little taller, frame a little larger, a little more solid, eyes harder. Draal paused, eyes flicking between Jim and the troll who could be no one other than James Lake Senior.

"Rokk - _Draal_!" James snapped.

Draal _flinched_ , falling back as his empty eyes stayed fixed on James. Draal's whole body was quivering, as if he were fighting against his body's own commands. 

"Look at you," James growled. "Your mother would be heartbroken to see _both_ of her sons lost to the Gumm Gumms."

"This is a trick," Draal murmured, and Eli was certain those were the words Gunmar was screaming into Draal's head. "My mother is dead-"

"But your _brother_ isn't!" James snapped. "The Gumm Gumms kidnapped children to make warriors...and to make changelings. Our parents are dead. But you still have a brother. You have a _nephew_."

Eli had seen the statue of Kanjigar, had seen how Draal favored his father. He'd seen no pictures of Draal's mother, but seeing the way the sight of the Lakes' troll forms affected Draal, Eli was certain they resembled Draal's mother. Gunmar must have realized it too, because one leg shifted, as if to make Draal turn away from Jim and James Lake.

But Draal's leg froze, and he didn't move, gaze fixed on James, on Jim, on the form that had probably struck Draal as familiar even if he hadn't known why. Draal, who thought he'd lost everything, to find one of his closest allies was his _family_.

Gunmar couldn't see it, Eli was sure, couldn't understand. He recognized he couldn't make Draal attack his long-lost brother or his nephew. But he thought he could make Draal turn away from them, return to the battle.

Because Draal was shaking, every muscle in his body straining against the commands given through the Decimaar Blade, against the command for Draal to abandon the family he'd thought was lost forever.

Eli turned, crouched, and leapt, because the outcome of this struggle wasn't in doubt anymore. Behind Eli there was a defiant roar, and ahead of him, Gunmar, still fighting four copies of Kellor, stumbled back two, three steps, single blue eye widened in shock.

And then the Decimaar Blade exploded.

Shards of metal scattered from where Gunmar stood. He took the brunt of it, but Kellor's duplicates vanished, and her arms, raised to cover her face, were scratched and bloodied. A few slivers even scored along Eli's side, but he ignored them, half-turning as he drew within range and slapped Gunmar with his tail.

It was an odd thing. There was a prophecy telling, obliquely, how Gunmar might be defeated, and some people had somehow concluded that Gunmar was simply immune to any other weapon. He _wasn't_ , and Eli wasn't about to ignore anything he had at his disposal he could use to hurt Gunmar.

" _Mid Vur Shaan_!" Kellor chased after Gunmar, striking at him with blindingly fast blows. " _Krii Lun Aus_!" Gunmar rose slowly, limbs overcome with lethargy. Eli charged in, mouth opening as he spat, " _Yol_ -"

A crushing sense of despair slammed into Eli, and he stumbled, unable to find the motivation to keep his feet, or stand once he'd fallen to the ground. He saw Kellor fall to her hands and knees and heard trolls weeping and wailing.

"You've done quite well," Morgana said airily, "Considering."

A full dragon might be _immune_ to Morgana's glamour, but Eli didn't have the strength of will to ignore it completely. But he _could_! He was Eli flipping _Pepperjack_ who Steve Palchuk thought was _awesome_!

Eli roared and took to the air, intending to scan the ground for Morgana. But she was hovering, unconcerned, in the air above the park, the Staff of Avalon held loose in her grip. She turned to him with her mismatched eyes, cool and unconcerned.

"Elijah Pepperjack. The dragon," she said. "I'd hoped Raum might be able to accomplish what Otto and his changelings could not, but you _are_ , it seems like a cockroach. No matter." She smirked at him. "This is the moment, I think, where if this were a cartoon I would say, 'enough playing' or something inane like that. But I _like_ games. My son and his friends - my son, you know, who Merlin _killed_ to make a tool to _kill me_ \- had all sorts of imaginative games. There was one I always had such fun with - what did they call it?"

" **Everyone get off the ground**!" Jim screamed.

Eli didn't question, didn't hesitate, just swooped back down, grabbing at Kellor, the nearest person he could reach. He saw Toby dragging Steve off the ground, other trolls leaping away.

"Oh yes," Morgana said sweetly. " _The floor is lava_."

\---

Between one breath and the next, the ground as far as Jim could see went from solid dirt and pavement to a bubbling red sea. The Gumm Gumm Warriors Gunmar hadn't bothered to order off the ground died as pillars of flame. Jim, his father, and Bular, Draal slung over his shoulder, crouched on top of one of the lower-slung buildings. Steve and Wumpa seemed to have made it clear, hanging from the central tree in the park. Claire and, apparently, Aja Tarron, were already on their perch. Blinky was perched on a streetlight, as were many of the other assembled trolls, Gumm Gumm and other alike. Mr. Strickler, Eli, and Toby were airborne, both keeping Morgana at a safe distance, or at least out of reach, eyeing Gunmar's gargoyles and stalklings warily. Jim caught sight of a wave from the top of City Hall itself, showing Darci had made it to safety.

...Or as safe as they could be facing down a troll king and a master sorceress.

"Ah! Mistress, I see you have things well in hand."

And a Polymorph with the evil twin to the Amulet of Daylight. Otto appeared next to his mistress, kept aloft by bat wings, having either expected this exact situation, or realized any edge in mobility would serve him well.

Morgana spared Otto the briefest of glances. "Kill them all. Leave the Trollhunter to me."

Jim heard a roar from Gunmar, and heard a shout from Eli, another from Toby. He didn't look, because he had to trust them to do their part, and he had other problems. Morgana was suddenly clad in armor, silver and gold, and the Staff of Avalon replaced by an elegant scythe. There were no portals; one moment Morgana was floating a hundred feet away, and then she was next to Jim, scythe swinging at him. He barely was able to deflect the strike with his shield. Bular took Morgana's distraction as an opportunity to attack, but his blades were wrenched from his hands and cast into the lava. She hadn't gestured, hadn't even seemed to be paying attention.

_Where do you think I got my knack for telekinesis?_

Jim closed in, swiping at Morgana with his bare claws, certain that the heat, at least, would hurt her. When he struck, however, her armor, painfully cold to the touch, deflected his claws, and he fell back. Draal crouched to jump at her, and the roof beneath him suddenly softened, and he sank through with a yelp. Morgana spun on her heel, swinging her scythe back up at Jim. He blocked again and knocked her back with a blast of wind. She responded with a flick of her hand. It hit Jim, a punch to his chest that knocked him back and off the building. He had a moment of panic, seeing the lava below him, and then something slammed him sideways. He landed, rolling on a flat, solid surface, and heard a familiar growl above him.

"Aaarrrgghh!" Jim rolled up and gave Aaarrrgghh's thigh a quick squeeze. "You have _excellent_ timing. Watch the ground; it's lava."

Aaarrrgghh gave a dismissive grunt, but grabbed Jim and launched them both off their perch a moment before a - _flaming meteor_ \- crashed into the roof behind them. 

"Not that I don't appreciate the assist, buddy, but I can do this myself," Jim said, when Aaarrrgghh landed safely on a half-collapsed gazebo.

 _Don't turn up your nose at the help. Morgana tried to_ kill _you._

_What's new?_

_No, I mean, she tried to punch your heart out of your chest. If you didn't have dragonblood in the Amulet, you'd be dead._

Aaarrrgghh, though, nodded, grabbed Jim, swung, and launched him toward City Hall. Jim caught only a moment of Aaarrrgghh jumping between streetlights that bent and snapped under his weight, of Mr. Strickler dodging stalklings through a cloud of gargoyles, before he crashed into the side of the building. Brick next to Jim's head shattered, and he scrambled up, trailed by whatever magic Morgana was throwing at him.

_Huh._

Jim turned, trying to judge if there was anything he could do to Morgana at this distance with his _complete lack of weaponry_.

"What happened to that neat silver sword you 86'ed Gruthark with?" Jim glanced back to see Darci sitting next to a - an entire arsenal of modern weaponry.

"I have no clue, but I bet I could take out Morgana with a bullet."

" _No_. I've been to a shooting range under competent supervision, and Steve's got creepy militia training. There isn't another one of you I'd trust not to accidentally shoot Blinky or something."

"How responsible." Jim jerked away from the sound of Morgana's voice. She was smirking at him. "I really expected more from Merlin's chosen champion." She spun her scythe around lazily. "Any last words?"

"Well first, you're asking the wrong troll that question, Your Worship."

"Wha-" Morgana stumbled when Jim's _dad_ slammed a horseshoe (the gaggletack that had set off Jim's identity crisis) into her skull. She spun, slamming the butt of scythe's handle into the man's stomach with enough force to send him over the edge of the roof. 

"Dad!"

_He'll be fine as long as he doesn't touch the ground - we need to pay attention now!_

There was something odd in Mordred's declaration, but he was right that Jim didn't have time to worry about it. Jim swiped at Morgana; laughing, she blocked with her scythe. Jim, victorious, grabbed the handle and pressed his palm, blazing with heat, against the blade. Metal dripped away from his touch; he looked up and grinned at Morgana.

"Oh, clever boy," she crooned. "But did it occur to you I don't need a _weapon_ to kill you?"

Something exploded at her feet. Morgana hopped to the side with a curse, and then again, ducking as blasts of energy rained around her. She threw her arm in the direction of the shots, and Jim saw ice streaming from her fingers. He also saw Blinky atop Aaarrrgghh's back, hurling gleaming stones that exploded mid-air at Otto, forcing the Polymorph to keep aloft and teleporting at irregular intervals to avoid being hit.

Jim grabbed a baton from Darci and swung around at Morgana. She caught his wrist in her prosthetic hand, turning to smirk as she tightened her grip. Jim could feel his bones grinding under her grip.

 _Any bright ideas?_ When Mordred didn't respond, Jim pushed a spark of his panic toward him. _Mordred?_

"Can you not even pay attention to me in your _last moments_?" Morgana demanded. "Are you waiting for Merlin to save you? Let me tell you a secret, boy - Merlin cares for _nothing_ aside from himself."

"That's only a secret to someone who hasn't met him," Jim retorted. "You know that, though - it makes me wonder what you're trying to do here. I think you could have beat us right when you showed up. But you're making a _show_ of it."

" _Kren Al Kopraan_!" Eli's shout rent the air; Jim saw him flap back hurriedly, dark spots along his gunmetal scales suggesting he'd been wounded. Toby stood tall on Eli's back, hammer stretched out like a wand, and lightning struck the roof they'd vacated. Eli rolled and Toby jumped off his back, hurling his hammer to intercept one of Otto's whips, yanking it back to take the whip with him.

"Yes. I _could_ kill you all with little effort. Do you want to know how to keep me in such a favorable mood?"

_Try to distract her, Jim._

_What? Why?_

_That's not real lava. It'll kill you, but it's not_ lava _._

"I think I know." Distract her? Jim had grown familiar enough with Mordred's thoughts that he knew the other boy wanted him to startle her - _upset_ her. "All this - killing the sun, letting trolls run rampant over the surface world - it's to get back at him. For talking your son into making the Amulet."

"For _killing_ him!"

"For you, it's always been about Merlin, so you think for him, it's all about you. You've been looking for a way to draw him out. Putting out the sun didn't do it. Laying siege to Arcadia didn't do it. So now you're playing with us, hoping if you threaten me - the _Amulet_ \- he'll pay attention to you. You're wrong, though. He made the Amulet of Daylight; he figures I'll be the one to take care of you, so he can pay attention to more important things."

"I don't _care_ what he thinks! All I want is my _vengeance_!"

Jim took a deep breath. _I'm sorry,_ he murmured to Mordred. "What vengeance? You're acting like he kidnapped Mordred and tied him to an altar somewhere. He made the Amulet to beat you. For that, he needed a _willing_ sacrifice. Someone who agreed you were dangerous and might need to be _put down_ someday."

" ** _Shut up!_** "

The air was dark and cold from the sun's absence, but when Morgana screamed, for a moment, it was not merely cold, but the world was absent of anything - warmth, life, or color. Jim remembered the sensation from his brief sojourns into the Shadow Realm.

And then the world was back, darker than before, because the ground was no longer bubbling with faux-lava. Jim understood in that moment what Mordred had recognized. Morgana hadn't transformed the ground into lava - there'd been no heat radiating from it, and none of the buildings or fixtures had melted. She'd been _maintaining_ a spell that made the ground follow the rules of a game. Jim wondered if she'd done something similar for Mordred, Gawain, and Galahad as children. It didn't feel like the time to ask, though.

Morgana's eyes were _white_ , glowing with an inner light that was almost blinding to look at. Jim heard a series of gunshots, most nearby, but a few distant, but found he couldn't look away from Morgana's eyes.

"You're right, I think," Morgana said. Her voice sounded distant, flat. "I shouldn't be running around trying to get Merlin's attention. I should just do...as I like."

Panic spiked at the back of Jim's mind. _Get out of there! For God's sake, just **run**!_

"So I think...you will die now." When Claire used magic, when even _Mordred_ used magic (telekinesis nonwithstanding), they made gestures. They _concentrated_. But there wasn't even a twitch of Morgana's hands. There wasn't a flash or glow, just a sensation like...standing in the shadow of a tsunami about to crash down on you.

And then-

The sensation was gone. Morgana's eyes were green and blue again, wide, mouth open in shock. Jim was certain it wasn't the dragonblood - it had blunted the magic Morgana had used to try to kill him before, not negated it. But he didn't have time to think about it, just lunged at Morgana, shoving her off the roof.

 _Get to Claire,_ Mordred said.

_Why-_

_**Because Morgana is about to try to kill her.** _

Jim jumped toward where Claire had been last; halfway there, he heard an enraged howl from Morgana. She appeared on the roof that was Jim's target, Staff of Avalon raised over Claire, who was leaning heavily on the Shadowstaff, face pale.

_She didn't have the power to stop that spell, but knew enough to blunt it - redirect it._

It had still taken a _lot_ out of Claire, though. Jim landed a moment after Morgana, and grabbed at her.

Or tried; the familiar cords of Otto's whips wrapped around Jim's torso. He tugged once, ineffectively, before his fear and frustration reached a peak and he roared, yanking on the whip hard enough that Otto let go rather than risk being dragged toward Jim. Jim was vaguely aware the whip had drained some of his energy, but his adrenaline was surging and he snapped Midnight at Morgana like a flail. The collision made her pause, turn (likely aware Claire wasn't capable of going anywhere), one eyebrow raised when she saw Jim with the whip end clutched in his hands.

"That does not belong to you," she said. Jim suspected the statement had been directed at Otto, as the whip vanished from his grip a moment later. Morgana's lips quirked up. "And here we are again, James Lake Jr. Me, with all the powers of a master of Shadow Magic, and you without even a dagger to your name."

" _Scheiße_!"

Morgana's gaze shifted, and Jim risked a turn to follow. Otto, bleeding heavily from his side, vanished, and Jim suspected it was for good this time. Gunmar was on one knee below, hide scorched, bruised, and cut, panting heavily as he glared at Toby.

"You will not beat me, half-breed."

"Doesn't matter," Toby grunted. "As long as _somebody_ does."

Jim only noticed then that Eli was human (human- _shaped_ ) again, leaning on Toby. He seemed to be whispering, but his voice boomed across the square. " _Niag Al Lass_."

The world pulsed and shuddered, as it had the moment Morgana had escaped her prison. Jim saw something behind Eli, a figure in grey and black, eyes awash with silver and gold. The roof underneath Jim cracked and collapsed; he saw Claire and Morgana stumble, though Morgana took to the air where Jim and Claire fell.

And when Jim looked back to Gunmar, his skin was greying, cracking, as he fell forward. Toby turned around and hurled his hammer toward Morgana. She didn't try to catch it, didn't try to block it; instead she ducked and rolled out of the way (Toby had gotten the hammer off of Gruthark, so it made sense Morgana might know more of its quirks than Toby, including the fact that it was almost impossibly heavy).

_What are the chances we can pull Excalibur out of our asses again?_

_Unlikely,_ Mordred replied. _But...I could try something._

_Something you didn't want to before._

_...Yeah._

_Is it going to kill you?_

There was a pause. _It might,_ Mordred admitted.

Jim took a deep breath. _Go ahead. But...tell me if it doesn't kill you._

Jim felt Mordred retreat, but he'd missed a key moment in there, because Morgana was next to him, a hand hooked into his armor, hoisting him high.

" _Enough_ , Trollhunter," Morgana growled. "I tire of this game - of your taunting and lies, and Merlin's _cowardice_." She pulled the Amulet of Daylight from Jim's chest with her free hand and-

Froze.

"I don't understand," she whispered.

 _Mordred?_ Jim felt a moment of panic when he realized he couldn't sense Mordred's presence at all.

Morgana's hand loosened and Jim fell back. She sank to her knees, staring, wide-eyed, at the Amulet of Daylight.

 _Mordred, you're supposed to tell me if you're not dead!_ There was no answer, except for a keening wail from Morgana.

"This is a _trick_!" She hurled the Amulet of Daylight away from her and lunged at Jim. "I'll tear your heart out like I did that fool Pitchiner's and your torment will be _unending_!"

" _Kaan_ ," Jim heard Eli say somewhere...close.

"Sleep," Claire murmured.

" _Drem_."

" _Sleep_."

" _Ov_."

Morgana took another step, but it was hesitant, tired. She sank to one knee, and Jim saw her eyes blinking slowly. "A trick," she muttered.

"No," Jim argued. "He _loves_ you. He wishes…"

Morgana laughed, a tired sound. "Don't we all?"

And with that, she slumped down, and was still.

It was quiet, then. Jim closed his eyes and took a few steady breaths. Something cool suddenly pressed against his palm; he pulled his eyes open and looked - and there was Toby, one hand on Jim's shoulder, the other withdrawing from Jim's hand, where he'd left the Amulet of Daylight. There was a familiar sensation within his mind, and Jim felt a wash of relief - his own and Mordred's, intermingled.

"Where's Blinky? We need to figure out a way to keep her locked up somewhere."

"What? Dude, I get the impulse, but-"

"We can't kill her," Jim insisted. "It's complicated, but she can't - we need her alive."

"Then we should find Merlin; he'd have the best idea what to do."

"Indeed I do." Jim yelped, hopping back away from the unexpected voice. Merlin, dressed in pale robes that shimmered in the darkness, stepped forward to follow Jim's retreat. "I'll need the Amulet of Daylight, first."

"W - why?"

Merlin winked at Jim. "Morgana is _defeated_. The job of the Trollhunter is _done_. It is time for your connection to it to be _severed_. For you to be _released_ from its bondage."

Jim glanced back at the Amulet, which had bound him to this task, had ensured his afterlife would be apart from...almost everyone he cared about. "I can't-"

Merlin sighed and twitched his hand; the Amulet of Daylight leapt into his grasp. "Luckily, it is not up to you. Whether or not the Amulet is bound to your spirit, I am its _creator_ , and as such, have the right to do with it what I wish."

Merlin crushed the Amulet in his fist.

" _No_!" Jim took a step toward Merlin, hand out, but it was done. Six stones fell to the ground around Merlin, and a stream of dust, so all that was left was the soft blue glow of the Amulet's central gem. Jim felt...empty. Lost. He couldn't pull his gaze away from that gem, the heart of the Amulet of Daylight, the Phylactery made of Mordred's soul.

"For the Glory of Merlin," Merlin mused. "Can you imagine how much power is in that phrase?"

"What?" Jim asked. He felt vague, disconnected; he wondered if his soul had still been in the Void when Merlin had destroyed it.

"Every life bound to the Void in my name, every life taken following an invocation to _me_ \- do you wonder what sort of power that makes?"

There was something wrong in Merlin's voice, something...about his words that Jim felt he should be paying closer attention to.

Merlin twisted his free hand around, murmuring a quiet word. A silver ring appeared around his middle finger, against which he pressed the gem. When he pulled his hand away, silver webbing held the gem in place. The muted sense of _wrongness_ increased. 

"What about Morgana?" Toby asked. "Jim said we need to keep her alive-"

" _Quite_ impossible." Merlin moved faster than Jim could react - faster than Toby, Claire, or Eli could - a sickle flashing in the darkness and then the sharp scent of blood. When Merlin stood, the Staff of Avalon was in his free hand, and a bloodied sickle in the other. He tossed the sickle aside before looking up at Claire. "And at last we come to you, my darling. The Skathe-Hrün, if you please."

"It's the Shadowstaff," Claire retorted, taking a step away from Merlin. "And it's _mine_."

"That may be true," Merlin said, "but if I am correct, it contains something within it that I _need_. So I apologize _profusely_ , but-"

Like Morgana had before, Merlin moved without any visible portal, any sense of movement at all. He wrenched the Shadowstaff away from Claire without any apparent effort, and spun the Staff of Avalon in a quick circle, the staff vanishing as it completed the circuit. Once his other hand was free, Merlin grabbed both ends of the Shadowstaff and snapped it over his knee.

Three glittering gems, one which looked like little more than a human eye made of glass, fell to the ground. Merlin stared at them for a long moment, before he slammed his foot into the ground, cracking the pavement beneath him. When he looked up at Jim, his eyes were blazing with an inhuman fury, blue-white and almost blinding in the darkness.

"Where is it?" Merlin growled.

"Where - what?"

" _Where is it_?" Merlin repeated. "I _know_ your little friends have been looking for it, so don't _lie to me_ about it. _Where is the Light of Creation_?"

Jim stepped back from Merlin, unease growing at the sight of the sage's anger. "...What?"

"Do you think I came to this planet for the _conversation_? The Pooka proved _remarkably_ uncooperative, however, and neither Pitchiner nor the Moon King came across it since he was rooted out of his bolthole. I thought perhaps the Akiridion spy might have found it, but that, too, was a false lead. And I have come to the conclusion that the Pooka has no idea where it is hidden, if he ever did. And that left Morgana - perhaps the most skilled Shadow Mage on this worthless ball of rock. But it's not _here_!"

Of course they all wanted to find the Light of Creation - it had been lost for centuries. But it sounded like Merlin had been seeking it for _much longer_. And something about Merlin, his attitude, the fury in his eyes, seemed uncomfortably familiar.

_There was a man who was said to be the son of the Devil…_

The goblins had been tasked with finding the Light by the other trolls.

_His mother had him baptized…_

But Merlin had killed Mordred.

_No longer bound to his father's destiny…_

Had started a war that had consumed the attention of trollkind since then.

_All men - all people - have the capacity for evil…_

How many lives shed _because_ of him? 

_He was evil because he chose to be._

"What have you _done_ with all that power?" Jim shouted. At Merlin's slight tilt of the head, Jim continued. "All those lives - all those people killed for your glory? The war started because of _you_?"

" _Done_?" Merlin asked. "What do you mean, what have I _done_ with it? Power, my boy, is not for spending, for wasting on trifles. It is for _gathering_. A man can never be too powerful."

" _Wrong_."

Merlin's head snapped over to Toby, who had his hammer leveled at Merlin.

"If a man has enough power...he becomes a _god_."

Merlin threw back his head and laughed. It was not a happy sound. He was smiling when his laughter died down. **It was not a happy smile**.

" _Becomes_ a god, Tobias? I have passed _far_ beyond that point. I have been worshipped for longer than your father's race has walked this earth."

A blast of light splashed against Merlin's back; he turned, one eyebrow raised, to see Aja pointing her weapon at him.

"Stop speaking in riddles," she growled. "And tell us. _Who are you_?"

"My name is Myrddin Wyllt," Merlin said. "But I suppose you know me by the title my followers gave me: Cthulhu, the Sleeping God."


	14. Revelation (Redux)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The history of the Sleeping God (Abridged)

Galahad rose to one knee; the effort of doing so was laborious, exhausting, but he did so anyway. It felt important to get up, to prove he wasn't dead (he didn't _want_ to be dead, which did a lot). The caves around him shifted, not through magic, but through weariness and blood loss. Blood Magic wasn't always literal (see, for example, Fin the Alchemist, who preferred to rely on the art of transmutation), but it had a distressing affinity for affecting the blood.

He'd overestimated himself, an inexcusable pride that might have disastrous consequences. Because if Galahad were down here, wounds bleeding sluggishly (healing, now, more slowly than they ought to, but healing nonetheless), it meant Merlin had returned to the surface - lacking the Light of Creation, but there nonetheless. The man (to call him a demon attributed a sort of inevitability to his actions, where it had become clear to Galahad Merlin's descent was a journey of his own choosing) had said things, while trouncing Galahad, that made it clear how thoroughly Galahad had failed his self-proclaimed mission. He had _spoken to the Trollhunter_ , and not recognized it, so had failed his chance to _warn them_.

Galahad's sight wavered, and for a moment, he was back in the Vault of the Holy Grail, young, arrogant, and so, so _angry_. He'd made _demands_ of the Holy Spirit, as if by reaching the resting place of the Grail meant he was _better_ , somehow.

He knew better now, that the Holy Spirit had drawn him there because _someone_ had to find the Grail. That it was mere providence (ha!) _he_ had been the one to enter the hall.

\---

The Holy Spirit did not appear as a dove or a flame. It was...omnipresent, watchful, silent unless It wished to speak, and even then Its voice wasn't _sound_ so much as something Galahad remembered hearing.

He recalled that the Holy Spirit told him that there were a hundred cups here, grails of varied power and rarity. To have come this far was to show some worthiness, but not enough to make _demands_. The Holy Spirit told Galahad he could leave, and never find this place again, or show the Holy Spirit where the Holy Grail was.

Galahad's first thought was foolish - the Lord would not choose a bejeweled cup as His vessel. His second thought was...smarter. The Lord would place His power within a humble vessel, and Galahad's gaze was drawn to a small, wooden vessel (the cup of a carpenter?).

And then his third though was-

"The Grail is not a _cup_ ," Galahad declared. "A vessel that holds the power of the Lord? His blessing? It is _you_ \- the Holy Spirit. The _Church_."

Half marks, he remembered the Holy Spirit replying.

"What-"

But quite a good guess. Whenever three or more are gathered in His name, the Holy Spirit is there. They become the Grail. Galahad felt a brush against his cheek, a transcendent sensation that carried with it a sense of warmth and _peace_ , a feeling he'd set aside when Mordred died.

Galahad remembered the Holy Spirit's reply, soft. Men spoke of a reward to the one who found the Holy Grail. This is no reward, but is a blessing nonetheless. One from each of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit. From the Father, the blessing of the Word. All tongues will be yours. From the Son, the blessing of the Incarnation. You will enter His Kingdom only when you choose to depart this world. From the Holy Spirit. the blessing of Wisdom.

The most humble of the cups began to glow, and Galahad wanted to laugh. The Grail was not a physical object, but it still seemed Galahad would drink for Its blessing.

Be wary, he recalled the Holy Spirit advising. When you drink, you will gain the full breadth of the Lord's understanding. For a single moment, you will know as He knows. You will retain the tiniest fraction of that wisdom, so focus on that which you most wish to know.

Galahad nodded, needing not even a moment to decide. There was only one thing he wanted to know - why Mordred had had to die. So he stepped forward and drank-

\---

_"No creature is without weakness, and I am no exception. But our concern is not me - it is Morgana, whom we both agree must have a check upon her power."_

It was agony to see his brother's last moments, to see him submitting to the bloody ritual that stole Mordred's life and bound it within the Amulet of Daylight (he didn't know if it was better or worse that in taking up the Amulet Gawain had carried his brother's spirit with him). But in the pain was confusion, because he'd wanted an answer, but this did not explain _why_ Merlin had desired a tool he could use to destroy Morgana.

The Spirit had promised infinite wisdom, had promised the breadth and depth of knowledge necessary to give Galahad one answer, so in Galahad's confusion, his mind was spent spiraling along another path, further down the history of Merlin-

\---

The cavern was dark and filled with heady smoke, and at its center, perched by the side of a great vent in the earth, was a woman. She stared up at Merlin, her eyes full of stars, her gaze impassive. "I will not respond to threats, Myrddin Wyllt. I am moved by Apollo, and to strike me down would be the gravest offense to him."

Merlin chuckled, but stepped back from the woman. "But you _will_ tell me what I wish to hear."

"No living creature is yet a threat to you, but there will be a child of air and darkness whose line will commingle with that of kings. Their blood will rouse and bind your enemies to a common cause, to be the arrowhead of your doom. Know this, Myrddin Wyllt - what you have sought to destroy will time and again rise against you, and even in their failure weaken you."

Merlin's face was twisted into a scowl, but there was something in his bright blue eyes, an unfamiliar flicker or shiver to them. Not _unfamiliar_ , Galahad corrected himself, merely something he had never seen on Merlin.

_Fear_.

_A child of air and darkness_? He felt a jolt in his heart, a sense of understanding. Having heard such words, Merlin would surely see Mordred, son of an Unseelie fae and the King of the Britons, as a threat.

"No," Merlin growled.

"You cannot deny _prophecy_ , Myrddin Wyllt."

"Can't I?" Merlin howled. He snapped out a hand and one of the attendants to the temple collapsed, blood running from her eyes. "I have lived far longer than your precious Apollo, and I suspect he would hesitate before confronting _me_."

The woman fell back, stars leaving her eyes as she shook her head, furious, panicked. "Please, no."

"What?" Merlin tilted his head, curious, as his left hand casually twitched and bent, magic _ripping_ apart the attendants, guards, even the old woman who sat in the corner merely transcribing the oracle's words. "Oh!" He smiled at the prophet, a gentle expression. "You think I'll _hurt_ you? Why, I will do nothing of the sort, Cassandra. I am wise enough not to blame the messenger."

"But-"

Merlin looked around the room, a thoughtful frown on his face as he took in the bodies. "Ah. Well, they were witness to this; even if they never knew it, they had knowledge of my weakness. It's never wise to allow that sort of thing to get out. And, as a happy bonus, their deaths will provide the power I need to ensure _you_ don't tell anyone about this, either." He was finally close enough to touch, leaning in to speak next to the woman's ear.

"There will not be another word you speak, Cassandra, that any creature will believe."

Still, though, Galahad longed to understand. Merlin - Myrddin Wyllt - had come to the oracle seeking knowledge of his end. He threatened _gods_ , and still feared the power of a child. He wielded Blood Magic like it was second nature to him (it was the province of demons, a power Merlin had never practiced openly to soothe fears about his heritage), and was older, _far_ older than they had believed.

Just the thought of that sent Galahad's mind careening back, to a moment that led to this one-

\---

Merlin stood at the edge of the construction site, watching as the stonemasons put the final pieces of the structure together. A group of priests stood apart from him, before at last one came to him.

"Oh, Mighty One," the priest said, "we have prepared the king's body as you indicated. Will this truly allow him to live again?"

"Of course," Merlin replied, an airy, dismissive response. "When the time is right and the gods call them, those you have prepared according to my teachings will rise." He smiled gently. "But you must protect their bodies, and what treasures you provide for them, for the body that is vandalized will not have a glorious resurrection."

"And what of _you_ , Oh Mighty One?"

Merlin's expression stuttered, beneficent smile fading. " _Me_?"

"Shall we tend to you when you pass on, Oh Mighty One?"

"I - it is not your duty to worry about _me_ ," Merlin retorted, but Galahad saw in his expression the hint of what would become the fear when Cassandra had foretold his destruction. Merlin was too old, Galahad thought, to believe himself immortal, the way children did. How could he be so certain of it, that a question about his mortality so unnerved him?

\---

Merlin was younger here, _much_ younger. He looked barely older than Galahad, a little awkward in his movements, moving with none of the casual arrogance of the master wizard. He was fighting, three rings on his hands inset with blood-red stones shining whenever he made a gesture or spoke a word (though Galahad heard the arcane syllables, his mind heard the _meaning_ of them - spells of death and blood, curses that Galahad knew too well, being the target of many of them during his duel with the mage).

His opponents were six. The first was something like a rabbit, if one had stretched and bent them to have a human form, fur bone-white except where they drew symbols across it in ash. The second man-like, though like the woman Cassandra, his eyes held stars. His skin gleamed like moonlight. The third was the most human of them, pale, dark-haired, moving with deadly precision with a bladed staff. A fourth was human-shaped, but the blue light spilling from their form gave them an unearthly look, like that of an angel. A fifth was a strange, jackal-headed beast, and the sixth inhuman, like a starfish.

The rabbit slashed at Merlin's throat with wicked claws; the wizard fell back, one hand clamping around the wound while the other drew lines in the spurting fluid, painting a half-circle around the wound.

When he drew his hand away, the wound was healed, though his neck and clothing were still blood-stained, and Merlin gave the assembled a smile that had a hint of the arrogant wizard Galahad had known (and there was a hint of the reason he did not fear death - this was the level of skill available only to demons and others born to Blood Magic, to use their own spilled blood as fuel for the spells to heal those wounds).

"Your first lesson in Blood Magic," Merlin said, "is _not to let a Blood Mage near spilled blood_!"

"Then I won't make you _bleed_ ," the rabbit replied, before twisting around to slam one of their massively-muscled legs into Merlin's stomach.

For all that grief and anger still burned in Galahad's heart, it buoyed his spirits to see Merlin be beaten into unconsciousness by some alien creature.

But that was not the end of this story, not the tale of how this child had become the arrogant master of three branches of magic, one of his own design, that had raised up Arthur to become King of the Britons. Not the tale of what had made him so certain of his immortality that he had, at the suggestion he might someday die, murdered a child for fear the boy might risk that.

\---

Before Galahad was a great fortress, a towering structure resting on a - mountain floating against a sky empty of anything but stars. A man - the third of the six who had fought Merlin, aged only slightly in that time - leaned against one of the two doors of the structure, a massive thing a dozen feet tall, pulled open, it seemed, by the man. It was silent, and beyond the half-open doorway, dark as pitch.

"Foolish," the man murmured. "How could Emily be here? How could I believe such phantasms?" He shifted his stance and began pushing the door closed. "She was not brought to the Prison, does not _belong_ here-"

And a hand caught the edge of the door. It pushed the door further open, relentlessly against the man's desperate efforts, until Merlin, Myrddin Wyllt, stepped out.

The wizard grabbed the man's shoulder and shoved him back. And this face, weathered by whatever horrors were bound within the prison behind them, was familiar. There was a light in Merlin's eyes, though, something feral, wild.

Merlin was _angry_.

"Did you think this would _work_ , Pitchiner? That the Constellations - Lunar and Leo and the others - could shove the evils of the universe into a box and be done with it? Yours will become a tale parents tell their children in warning."

The man, Pitchiner, snarled, drawing out a long, straight blade. "We beat you before, Myrddin Wyllt. We will do so again."

Merlin scowled. "Why did you put them in there with me?"

"You were as wicked as any other creature in the universe; you deserved _worse_ , had we been capable of it."

Merlin paused, and the fury shifted into a smirk, wide, toothy. "I didn't ask why you put _me_ in there with _them_ ; I asked why you put _them_ in there with _me_. Your second lesson in Blood Magic is _never leave a Blood Mage alone with potential sacrifices_." The scent of blood and rot swelled from the halls of the prison; Galahad knew Pitchiner smelled it when he froze, eyes twisting toward the dark passage.

"I have wrought enough death that my voice has carried beyond the bounds of this world, that I have won acolytes spread across the universe. In little ways they have sought to unmake the Golden Age you have wrought. But the work of my priests and evangelists is slow, too slow." Merlin's shadow twisted and split into a shape boiling, unearthly, beneath his feet. "And I would have vengeance on you, and all who cast me in here." The branches of Merlin's shadow lunged from the ground and dove into Pitchiner's eyes, ears, nose, mouth. And Merlin smiled. "You will drown in your fear - the fear for your daughter, for her future. And once there is nothing left...you will be my instrument, and the destruction of the Golden Age."

When the moment passed, when the Lord's infinite wisdom left Galahad only with the memories he had sought, he found himself on his hands and knees, sobbing into the stone of the chamber. Because he _had_ his answer, but it was nothing more than the cruelty and selfishness of one man, a tale of unchecked arrogance and pride.

But there was _hope_ in that tale. Nothing could bring Mordred back, but it was Morgana's _line_ that would bring doom to Merlin, which meant the sorceress herself might have the key...

Given enough time, time Galahad now _had_ , he could figure it out. Bring _justice_ to Myrddin Wyllt, for Mordred's death, and the worlds he had destroyed long ago.

\---

"They had _more powerful_ weapons in the Golden Age, and _still_ they could not kill me," Merlin said, mild, as Aja fired a dozen blasts from her Serrator into his chest. "Still-" He made a pass with one hand, muttering a word, and the Serrator sparked and died. Merlin gave Aja a gentle smile, and despite knowing it was _pointless_ , would do less than _nothing_ to harm him, Aja had to talk herself down from punching the old man in the face.

Because that smile, that grandfatherly face, hid the greatest evil the universe had ever known. The Sleeping God - architect of the fall of Akiridion, of countless other worlds - stood before Aja and she was _powerless_. Claire and Jim, bereft of the tools Toby had said helped them fight, huddled behind Toby, who made no move toward Merlin but stood in a way suggesting he would throw himself at the wizard if he gave either of them the slightest glance.

"You should be thankful victory has left me feeling merciful," Merlin said.

"What, that you will kill us _last_?" Aja demanded, because whether or not she could _hurt_ him, she was not letting Merlin get out of here unscathed. "Do not pretend you intend to do anything other than leaving this world a lifeless husk. That _anyone_ here will not fight to their last breath to see you _defeated_."

Merlin was suddenly standing next to Aja, mouth so close to her ear she could feel his breath as he spoke. "Be glad, then, none of you are enough of a threat for me to _care_ about your fate. But if you desire death, Queen Aja, it will not be difficult to find me…"

He was gone without another word, without a gesture or sign of the power he'd used. And Aja slumped to the ground before bursting into tears.


	15. Harbinger

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A servant falls from the sky, and another rises.

It had been three days and Kubritz was still fielding calls from people she did not know had her number. When the sun stopped emitting radiation for six hours, and NASA didn't have an explanation, the National Security Advisors starting probing _everyone_ , the experts in extraterrestrials the most. They had just picked up an unidentified object passing the moon when a grunt appeared in the monitoring room. She saluted when she saw Kubritz.

"Sir? There's someone at the gate."

Kubritz didn't spare her more than a glance; the object was moving far too deliberately to be an asteroid. "Do they have clearance?"

"No, but…" The grunt frowned briefly. "He asked for you specifically."

That _was_ odd. The existence of Area 49-B was top secret. The existence of Colonel Kubritz was _beyond_ that. You didn't want it to be easy to find the person in charge of protecting the United States of America from alien invaders. Not since the last alien who'd slipped through their grasp. For someone to claim to know her and _not_ provide proper clearance…

Well, that was a threat, and not the sort she could afford to put down quietly.

"Bring him in."

" _Here_ , sir?"

"What? _No_! Interrogation Room C!"

The problem with running a top-secret military base was that it was hard to advertise for top talent, Kubritz mused as the grunt left.

"Keep me abreast of any new developments," she commanded, before retreating to the observing room to await the arrival of their visitor. When she saw him-

Well, it was a shock, and _not_ a welcome one. Sergeant Clyde Palchuk had evaded a court-martial only through some tricky political maneuvering that had not only kept him from a treason charge, but gotten him some sort of special forces gig. Kubritz decided to let him stew, but ten minutes of glaring at him had done nothing for _her_ mood while _Palchuk_ seemed unreasonably calm.

He turned, expression mild, when Kubritz slammed into the interrogation room.

"Good evening, Colonel. Have you figured out that little solar hiccup earlier?"

" _Sergeant_ ," Kubritz growled out, because she was not going to share classified information, even if that information was that none of _her_ resources had been able to answer that question.

" _I'd_ tell you, but you wouldn't believe me. You'd think they'd put someone a little more open-minded in charge of a place like this." Palchuk flopped his feet up on the table and pushed himself back in his chair, offering Kubritz a smirk.

"I didn't let you in here to debate staffing decisions," Kubritz growled.

"Why _did_ you let me in here? I mean, I might see a classified toilet seat."

" _Why are you here_ , Sergeant?"

Palchuk stood in one fluid motion, turning away from Kubritz to wander to the one-way mirror that led to the observation room. He was standing at ease, unconcerned that if Kubritz wanted, she could stick him in a cell for the rest of his natural life. He hadn't lost his penchant for tasteless jewelry, Kubritz noted, a heavy silver ring topped with a blue stone covered in silver mesh on his right middle finger. His left hand, she noted, was covered in a long glove, a clear step toward an even worse fashion sense.

"I came here to take charge, Patricia."

"Take - you can't just waltz in here and ask to be put in _charge_."

"Well, that depends on what sort of connections you have. You don't have a lot of connections, Patricia. You've just kept your head down, hoping your results would speak for themselves. _I_ , on the other hand - I've got friends in high places. And _you_ are short on answers, which makes people wonder why they keep giving you money"

Kubritz bared her teeth in a silent snarl; Palchuk hadn't taunted her so openly when she'd pressed for his theft of state secrets to get him _hanged_ , but he'd come close. But she'd run this facility _without incident_ for close to _thirty years_. There was no way this upstart with no sense of _responsibility_ for the defense of this planet could make a call and get Kubritz _kicked out_.

"And what prompted this sudden interest in planetary defense?"

"I've got a friend coming to town, and I want to make sure he gets a proper welcome."

Kubritz felt a flare of _fury_ , and she lunged at Palchuk. "If you think _for one second_ you're going to let some filthy alien walk around-"

"You don't have a choice."

"Colonel?" One of the commissioned officers was at the door, watching Kubritz with a hesitant expression.

"What?"

"The...Secretary is on the phone. He says…" His gaze flicked to Palchuk. "That, um, _Colonel_ Palchuk is to be given complete control over the base. And its, um. Personnel."

"Excellent timing," Palchuk said, turning and peering at his second's nametag, "Lieutenant Colonel Ralls. Now, come on, I need to check on our scanners. You can come, too, Colonel."

Kubritz followed Palchuk, fuming, wondering, vaguely, if it would do any good to shoot him. Probably not; he'd walked away from a lot of shit that should have killed him already. So she was stuck watching with growing frustration as he presided over the tracking of an _extraplanetary craft_ and providing it _landing coordinates_.

"His name's Rowan," Palchuk said conversationally as the ship drew close to the atmosphere around dawn. "And he's the last of his kind, so you can understand why I'm hesitant to let _you_ get your grubby mitts on him. He's gonna want to meet _you_ , Colonel, when he lands. So come on." Palchuk stood and waved Kubritz on as he walked to the door, snatching an earbud from one of the grunts as he did.

And Kubritz followed because whether or not she liked it, Palchuk was in charge of this base now. But she could feel it - a twist in her gut that told her this was a bad idea. The feeling grew as they exited into the main courtyard, where most of the base personnel was assembled. 

Because Palchuk had spent an hour and a half arguing with other international agencies, when the object - a ship - became visible, it was moving freely, unmolested. It was egg-shaped and dark, moving slowly as it sank to earth.

"Now, Rowan's got some weird customs, so you're gonna want to keep your cool," Palchuk said. "And at ease, everyone - he's not _royalty_."

There was a moment of silence between the ship alighting on the ground as gently as anything else, and it opening to reveal Rowan.

Kubritz had seen art to show how cartoon characters would look in the real world, and Rowan was like that - like something out of a fever dream. He looked something like a rabbit, put on two legs and stretched out to stand taller than a human. His teeth were showing, but Kubritz wasn't willing to call it a 'smile'. His white fur was marked by strange red patterns - Palchuk had mentioned his customs, so maybe some kind of cultural signifier? His left eye was shriveled and surrounded by black veins, so when he scanned the assembled soldiers, it was with the one eye.

He spat out a series of guttural sounds. There was a word in there, something almost familiar. But Palchuk was laughing in response to the alien's sounds (words, apparently).

"What's he saying...Colonel?"

"Oh, greetings, general declarations of goodwill, shit like that. Hey, you, gun _down_!" 

Rowan gestured at the soldier in question, their voice dropping as they spoke.

Palchuk looked to Kubritz, one eyebrow raised. "Hey, what's that guy's story?"

"I-"

"Fuck, it won't matter in ten minutes anyway." Palchuk let out a guttural sound, and Rowan was suddenly standing next to the now-unarmed soldier, their front hand raised, fingers ending in wickedly sharp claws. He moved too fast for Kubritz to see clearly what happened next, but Kubritz could guess, given that after that moment, he was holding a bloody human heart in one hand.

He traced a finger along one of the shapes, one on his left hip, and when the shocked soldiers opened fire, their bullets slammed uselessly into his skin. One enterprising soldier produced one of the energy weapons they'd modified, but Rowan's hand was on a symbol on his right shoulder, and the discharge struck his chest with little apparent effect.

He spoke again, and Kubritz couldn't help but feel his tone was dismissive.

"Ha!" Palchuk shrugged and spoke in that strange language, and Kubritz couldn't help but feel she'd heard - the cadence of it before.

But she didn't have time for that - one of her charges was _dead_ , and Palchuk was unconcerned. He almost seemed _amused_. "What is he _doing_? Why are you _letting him_?"

Palchuk gave Kubritz a smirk. "He wanted to know what we're made of - not much, apparently. But he's never averse to finding new materials for his tattoos."

Rowan flashed sideways in response to a hail of gunfire, and two more soldiers fell with pained cries. Kubritz grabbed her sidearm - Rowan had took a move to _counter_ the gunfire, which meant he _could_ be hurt.

But then she saw Palchuk moving toward the main campus and felt a spike of indignation. Palchuk was using Rowan's attack as a _distraction_ to get his hands on - she didn't _know_ what. So Kubritz stood in a moment of stillness, fighting between the desire to protect her people and protect the secrets this facility was built to protect.

In the end, the secrets won out. There was a limit to how many people one rabbit could kill, but the knowledge kept in Area 49-B could threaten the entire world.

The damage he could do with Specimen 07, for example, didn't bear thinking about.

Something happened as Kubritz moved, though - the grounds behind her were on fire, black flames devouring everything they touched. She scrambled into the main structure ahead of half a dozen other soldiers, but had no time to devote to them. Instead, she tried to assess which secrets were the most dangerous, and what Palchuk wanted.

Kubritz couldn't keep her mind off of Specimen 07.

So she found her way to the holding cells, pausing when she found that part of the building empty of anyone except for Specimens 03 and 07. The dark, bulbous alien covered in luminous green marks (more regular than Rowan's, but no less ominous), and the massive armored beast with gleaming red eyes. Specimen 03 gave Kubritz a wide, wary look when he saw her.

"What's going on?"

The building shook, and Kubritz caught the scent of smoke. 

She wasn't certain why she did what she did next - she'd never found it in her to feel sorry for their charges, not when their every word concealed a desire to crush humanity under their heels (or heel-equivalents). Spite was a good possibility; she loathed Clyde Palchuk and his smug, entitled face. Fear, too. He didn't seem to care about these two, but she couldn't bear to imagine what he would do if he got his hands on them. 

"Some traitorous asshole took over the base and let some alien invader drop down on our front yard."

Specimen 03 rolled his eyes and leaned back against his tube. "Ooh, what's the big scary alien? A Boov? A Gorval? Based on available evidence, your planet has never encountered a single hostile alien race in its entire history."

"Well, you've got two choices," Kubritz snapped. "You can keep Specimen 07 in check while we get out of here, or you can take your chances with Palchuk's buddy Rowan."

Specimen 03 stiffened, pushing away from the wall of his tube. His eyes were wide. He was _shaking_. And if Kubritz hadn't seen for herself how dangerous Rowan was, she might have been surprised by Specimen 03's fear.

"You know him," she accused.

"Know _of_ him," Specimen 03 replied. "If you're serious, I am taking your ride out."

Kubritz slammed a palm against the controls to release Specimen 03 before turning to Specimen 07's tank. The creature snarled, a low, dangerous sound, giving Kubritz pause. "Keep it _calm_ ," she commanded. "And tell me everything you know about Rowan."

Specimen ran to the other tank and began muttering to it in some alien language, not the same as the one Rowan used, but…

"And _quickly_." She tapped another set of controls, and the tank began emptying, slowly.

Specimen 03 gave Kubritz a quick glance. "He's a Pooka - supposedly the last of his kind."

"Palchuk said something to that effect. But it doesn't-"

"He's one of the emissaries of a - theocratic empire that had half a dozen galaxies in its grip when I crash-landed here."

"He didn't seem eager to convert us," Kubritz mused.

"He's not exactly the missionary of the group. But trust me when I say the safest place for us to be is as far away from him as we can get."

As the building behind them burned, Kubritz perched on the back of Specimen 07, who followed Specimen 03's praise and exhortations with blind obedience, she felt a grim sort of determination. She'd been preparing for this moment for thirty years, and despite finding she was horribly unprepared for it, she would _not_ be found absent when her country - her _planet_ \- needed her.

\---

The ship, the _Harbinger_ , traveled within a cloak of shadow. Usurna wasn't certain why; Ryuujin, who also went by Archimedes, when he felt like being owl-shaped, hadn't demonstrated the sort of consideration to hide the sun for _Usurna's_ sake. The ship had been doing so for months, and comments from the crew had led Usurna to suspect there had been other ships doing the same for _years_.

They were looking for something, something that had been lost in the Pacific nearly fifteen years ago.

Ryuujin, perched on the ship's bow day and night, stared unblinking into the depths of the ocean, silent except to call out new bearings; as a result, Usurna's theories on the nature of what they sought were informed only by the crew's gossip.

That, and her own glimpses of the future.

For centuries, Usurna had worked tirelessly to bring about Ragnarok - the death of the gods and cleansing of the world. She had done so not out of malice or self-aggrandizement, but because she had known the future held two possible fates for the world:

The cleansing of Ragnarok, from which a new world would be born.

Or the end of all things.

Working with Gurnmar and Morgana had kept her vision of the cleansing clear and certain.

But it had been fading, replaced by the death of all things. Not just humans and trolls, but entire worlds. And not just death. Life could rise from dead things - Ragnarok was one such cycle. The world ahead was...bare. Empty. She had taken to staring into the depths alongside Ryuujin, uncertain if she was trying to see some hope in it (she wondered if King...Aaarrrgghh knew of this coming doom, or only the false hope that his vision showed him) or was resigned to the end that was coming for them.

On the day the sun darkened, the muted light filtering through the _Harbinger's_ cloak fading to nothing, they found something. Ironically, Usurna thought it was only the sky being devoid of even starlight that they could even seen it.

Usurna would have ignored the subtle gleam on the waves, but Ryuujin perked up and shouted out a bearing before Usurna even noticed it. As they drew closer, she could see the light shining from the surface of the ocean. It was red, almost invisible in the dark, but grew stronger as they pulled level with it. 

The crew scrambled with a strange device Usurna had seen, but not understood the purpose of, until she saw them twist it over the water and something like a bubble detach from it. An arrangement to drop and lift a means of travelling beneath the water, then. The bubble sank and for a time, the boat was still, quiet.

In fact, the sun _returned_ (Morgana had failed, it seemed) before the machine returned, metal pincers set along its sides clamped tight. As the crane lifted the vehicle from the water, Usurna got a closer look at the clamp nearest her.

It was a troll.

Or the corpse of a troll - slender, ten feet or so tall, and familiar, somehow. Usurna was certain she had never seen them before; their crown of horn was distinctive. Whatever was held in the other clamp was the source of the glow, and Usurna could not catch more than a glimpse of it without burning her eyes.

When the vehicle was laid upon the deck, Ryuujin changed, and there was a dragon curled around the perimeter of the deck. He plucked the dead troll from one side of the vehicle and the other object - a stone the size of a human fist, glowing with a blazing red light.

And the cost, the effort of this search, made sense. A stone like this, visible even from the very bottom of the ocean, could only be the Philosopher's Stone. As the Light of Creation was a source of knowledge and insight for Shadow Magic, the Philosopher's Stone was for Blood Magic. Its legend had given rise to myths of alchemy, of a means of achieving something for nothing. It was an insidious myth, for alchemy was either chemistry done badly or Blood Magic, and neither was free.

It gave Usurna some idea of the identity of the dead troll - the last child of Grinhilda of the Gumm Gumms was ( _had been_ , given her state) an alchemist with enough power she must have been a Blood Mage.

"You could have left Fin at the bottom of the ocean," Usurna offered.

Ryuujin chuckled. "I could not - my master wished for her to serve him again. There has never been a more skilled alchemist."

" _Serve_ him? I cannot imagine anyone would have use for a dead alchemist."

"Dead?" Ryuujin asked. "Perhaps. But not gone." He set Fin's body flat against the deck, and the Philosopher's Stone atop her heart. "Blood Magic is about storing and directing energy - anyone who has used a grail or phylactery should know that. Merlin used Blood Magic to craft a phylactery that held the _soul_ of its sacrifice, in addition to the power of that sacrifice's life. With the Philosopher's Stone, replicating such a feat should be simple."

Usurna looked around the ship, at the crew, and felt a wash of unease. "You could have found her on your own," she said, quiet. "But you needed lives. Human sacrifices."

"Oh, certainly." Ryuujin slammed his claws into the deck, carving symbols, deep, into the metal. The light of the Philosopher's Stone began to dull, as color began to seep into Fin's skin, crimson and bright even in the shade carried by the ship (and here was the reason to carry night with the ship - not for _Usurna_ , but for _Fin_ ). There were wet sounds around Usurna as the crew began bleeding and dying in exchange for the life of the creature laying on deck.

"But not just human. I can revive Fin's _body_ easily, but to move her _soul_ requires _equivalent exchange_."

Usurna's shock was not that she was to die so that Fin might live again.

But how pointless her life had been.

She had long been haunted by visions of doom, the certainty that only Ragnarok would allow the world some hope for a future.

It occurred to her only in this moment that she had only ever foreseen her own doom. That the death of the world was the cost for Usurna's own survival.

She _hoped_ so. If she was going to die, she would prefer it to be merely the capstone to a useless life, than the beginning of oblivion.


	16. Prelude

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In another world, they were guardians of children. In the wake of the Sleeping God's return, they are being roused to another call.

_Memory_

Toothiana had two swords drawn before she even took in the sight of the intruder. She'd spent eighteen hours checking in on the children she'd returned to the human world, and the exhaustion had left her on edge.

The intruder didn't look dangerous at first glance, but Toothiana didn't let her guard down. They looked something like a human man, a little rotund, with a neat goatee and polite smile. Toothiana, though, had a knack for seeing creatures' true forms (you could always find a hint in a creature's eyes), and the glint of yellow told her - _troll_.

"Is this how you treat visitors? It is not very polite."

"I'm not inclined to be polite to trespassers," Toothiana retorted, shifting her stance. The intruder fiddled with what looked like a pocket watch, and Toothiana felt a flutter of anxiety. The sun had gone out a few days ago, and even though it had returned, there were whispers of something happening in the world - in _both_ worlds. Discord in the human realm, and fear among the creatures of magic.

"Perhaps once you have heard me out, Toothiana, you may feel differently."

Toothiana lowered one sword, which the intruder seemed to take as agreement, as their hand fell away from their pocket watch. "My name is Otto Scarbach, once the leader of the Janus Order. More recently, one of the chief advisors of Morgana-"

Toothiana snapped her second sword up. "If you have come for revenge, you will find _no quarter_ from me."

"Calm, calm, sister," Otto said, hands up, flat, unarmed (but because no changeling could take human form with their familiar in the surface world, he had to be something else - a Polymorph, or the elusive human-troll hybrid - and one of those was never truly unarmed). "What's done is _done_. What concerns me - _us_ \- is what happens _next_. Morgana put out the sun, intending to destroy humanity, but she failed. She is dead, and something worse has risen to take her place. If _any_ of us are to survive, we must work together."

"And?"

"The trolls will not trust the Janus Order, and neither will the humans. There are a thousand little factions in the world, and for proper accord, there must be a mediator - someone apart from all of them."

Toothiana narrowed her eyes at Otto. "And why me?"

"You have been speaking to members of human governments about the children you rescued. They do not know your true identity, but you are a known quantity. You ended the changeling threat. And the Sisters of Flight - you are as awesome as the fae themselves. True, were Tsar Lunar in his right mind, I would not hesitate to offer my services to him, but this is not an option."

"...Services?"

"You will need intelligence, guidance. And none of these are in greater abundance than the Janus Order."

Toothiana sheathed her swords and gestured at Otto to follow her to the kitchen of the flat she'd rented in Brussels. She began to make tea. "I think it would be best if you explained exactly what is happening - what makes you think an alliance of magical creatures will be necessary."

"You are the last of your people, are you not?" Otto asked. "Felled by a man wearing the face of a monkey, a fearsome sorcerer and vicious warrior. Did you ever discover _why_ he sought your people?"

"It was the flying elephants-"

"Oh, in part, in part." Otto turned lamplike eyes on Toothiana, grinning fiercely. "He was a hunter who abandoned his humanity for the speed and strength of a greater creature. But he hunted because he had learned the secrets of Blood Magic, how to use the life of another to make his sorcery greater than any other's. He hunted greater and greater prey to gain greater and greater power. To craft spells of war and destruction, he needed the blood of the world's more dangerous creatures.

"He is dead, now, of course. He sought to hunt the Yeti, and died at the hands of the Lord of Winter. But his teacher, his master, has many servants."

\---

_Moon_

Kubo scrambled down the tunnels of the great den. It was a sort of providence that he had stumbled across it after being cursed by his grandfather. The scattered skeletons, many in pieces, gave testament to the violence that had visited this place, which was now abandoned. There were signs, too, of looters, but the dust and overgrowth suggested no one had been here, since. It was a quiet place, and abandoned long enough ago that Kubo concluded it was secret, as well.

Importantly, it was underground, so his grandfather could not spy on him here. There was a garden, but it was dead, and Kubo wondered what sort of optimism had led the owner to try to grow turnips without any sunlight. Kubo tried to time his necessary trips for provisions with his spying, to limit the time he spent in sight of the moon, and it mostly seemed to have worked.

When he first arrived, Kubo traversed enough of the den to determine there were no other inhabitants; it took time for him to relax enough to explore the den properly. In this, it proved to be far more than a shelter. The tunnels were...more than they first appeared - they didn't go _everywhere_ , but there wasn't a forest or natural preserve he couldn't reach from them.

And then there were the books. Had there ever been books of magic, they had been taken by looters. But what was left was infinitely more valuable.

Books of lore. Of _history_.

Discovering his own heritage had once allowed Kubo to release his grandfather from the curse brought on by his blindness, so Kubo devoured the knowledge held within the original owner's books. Written in the tongue of the Heavens, they spoke of an age long-past, a Golden Age, and the Constellations that ruled over it. Of ancient foes cast within a prison, and the Nightmare that brought it to an end.

Here, Kubo discovered what it meant to be child of Tsar Lunar. The Constellations had some talent with Celestial Magic - the words that spoke to the heart of the universe. The Lunar had championed great warriors - had been said to be able to awaken a creature's potential. It explained how Kubo could craft tools through song, could grant a blind man a fraction of his own vision.

Here, Kubo learned of the ancient foes of the Constellations - the Dream Pirates, who stole others' sense of worth to make themselves immortal; the Fearlings, who drowned their enemies in fear until there was nothing left but their despair; evil sorcerers including the Blood Mages who engaged in human sacrifice.

In his searching, Kubo found a single bedroom - filled with scattered straw, brittle blankets, a broken bedside table, and a chest smashed against the far wall. Kubo found a diary there, along with a sad, withered flower and a clay token so broken he couldn't identify what it had once been. After reading everything else, Kubo weighed what he could learn from the diary against the privacy of whoever had lived in the den. Knowledge won out - in part, because the owner was likely long-dead.

And what a treasure it proved to be. The den's owner had been one of a race of people destroyed in the fall of the Golden Age, a Pooka - a warrior and a scholar. Kubo tried his best not to read the Pooka's - Aster's - thoughts, but still felt he knew him a little at the end. Aster spoke of five other creatures who had escaped the fall of the Golden Age - three allies and two enemies. But servants of Myrddin Wyllt, a Blood Mage without compare, had cast Sanderson the Wishing Star into a pit of infinite despair, and blinded Tsar Lunar so he might become another of Myrddin Wyll's servants. And they had been tracking Aster, looking for something he had rescued from the fall of his world and his people, one of the Six Axes upon which the fabric of reality was pinned.

And in the end, Kubo understood his task was not to fight his grandfather or Myrddin Wyllt. Like his grandfather, like the Constellations from which they were both born, Kubo's was to create champions.

\---

_Wonder_

Nicholas St. North was contemplating a thunderbird feather (after repairing the Amulet of Daylight, he'd found himself put off by Phylacteries, and begun exploring other ways to infuse items with elemental magic) when he felt the wards in the Gyre station collapse.

He threw the feather aside and grabbed for his favorite sword, a blade he'd forged a hundred or so years ago after reading a particularly nonsensical poem. He pocketed, too, a phaser (a newer addition, crafted sometime in the late 1980s when he'd somehow managed to watch sixty episodes of Star Trek over the course of a week), the charm he'd received in exchange for crafting a trio of veils for three women who could not safely meet others' eyes, and a bag of odds and ends that had served him well over the years.

North hadn't even made it halfway across his workshop when the door to the basement exploded and a figure stepped through, rising through the dust and smoke. They wore a robe so pale to almost glow, and led their steps with a staff that seethed with energy. Blue eyes were the first detail to emerge from the dust, and then a face, weathered, pale, human-like.

"Nicholas St. North," the intruder intoned. "I have heard _much_ about your work. Weapons and treasures of such power and wonder…"

North's emotions were like a pitched battle - muddled and mixed between pride, embarrassment, and worry. The last was because one didn't generally knock in people's front doors just to compliment them.

"I'm afraid you have the advantage of me," North demurred.

"The advantage - ah! You mean that I have not introduced myself. You may call me Merlin."

North's unease smoothed a little at that. Merlin had been notoriously eccentric even in his own day-

Merlin made a gesture and black flames spread away from his feet, engulfing the workshop in an instant. North had only a moment to mourn for treasures and gifts he had gathered over decades of work and building friendships, before Merlin turned to him, a flicker of light within one of his eyes.

North's protective amulet shattered, and he was still thrown back into the far wall of the workshop, which collapsed, dumping him into the front hall. North reached his feet as Merlin strode across the workshop, the dark flames trailing him like a cloak, turning the building to ash behind him.

North drew his sword, his vorpal blade, and hurled it at Merlin; North himself turned and fled, because he knew even his masterwork would do nothing against Merlin, master of at least three branches of magic. North saw fragments of metal flying away from Merlin as North shoved the front door open and spilled out into the snow.

"I do not know it is preferable to die in the snow than at my hands, but if that is your wish, I can accommodate you."

Merlin stepped out into the snow after North, glowing in the winter darkness. Behind the wizard, North's workshop collapsed, the black flames spreading from the burning wood and stone onto the ice and snow.

"I _apologize_ if I have offended," North said hurriedly, stepping away from Merlin. "But surely we can talk this through-"

"Offended?" An odd expression crossed Merlin's face; thoughtful, still. "You think you have done something to earn my ire? That you can do something to avoid it?" He chuckled, shaking his head. "This is all just - happenstance. I have killed many people like you, and it has nothing to do with my _feelings_."

North had been a bandit, once, so he knew the difference between good and bad people. And whatever stories he had heard of the wizard Merlin, North could see he was _not a good person_.

So when Merlin had laughed, North fumbled in his pack. What he pulled out wasn't a way to defeat Merlin; he wasn't certain there was a way to do so. It was a way out.

...Well, maybe.

It was theoretical, untested, and wildly dangerous, but an uncertain death sounded better than whatever Merlin was going to do to him.

North held up the snowglobe, filled with wind and snow and magic. He'd yet to find a way to properly attune them to a location, but they responded, he thought, to intention, albeit in strange, unpredictable ways. He tried to focus on safety, but with Merlin raising his staff, North's mind kept skipping back to his days as a bandit chief, the odd sort of camaraderie of men who lived on the edge of the law.

The snowglobe hit the ice and shattered, and there was a sensation of movement, the howling of the wind, cold so bitter and cutting North was certain he would be bleeding when he landed.

Everything went dark anyway.

He woke in stages some time later, feeling weak; North bolted up in a panic, but no sorcerer immediately flayed the skin from his bones.

"Down," a growly voice said, and a furry hand (paw) pushed North down, gently, but firmly enough it was clear North didn't have a choice. It gave North a moment to look around. He was in a well-lit room set with a dozen cots - all of them far larger than North's own bed (and he was not a short man). It was simply built and decorated, but the lights were electric, and it was warm, so it wasn't _primitive_.

Which he might have considered just at the sight of the other person in the room - a burly creature covered in white fur that bled into brown starting at their chest. Their face was round and expressive only by white eyebrows and a drooping mustache.

"Hurt," the creature growled.

North reached up to his chest, finding it unclad, and covered in bandages. It was strange; he hadn't remembered being cut.

"I...thank you, friend," North said.

"Don't thank yet," the creature said. "Still don't know what to do with you."

North looked down at himself again, at the bandages and traces of stitches. "You aren't about to cast me out into the snow, are you?"

The creature shrugged. "If Chief say so, yes. If Chief say kill you, yes. Depend on what he think of you - trespassing."

"You might have decided earlier, and save the trouble of curing me," North snapped.

"If you die, Chief will do it. Not sporting to kill a sick man."

"What sort of chief _is_ this?" Some sort of fae, North suspected; their whims were strange, violent, and made little sense to outsiders.

The creature bared a teeth full of razor-sharp fangs at North. "King of the Yeti - the Lord of Winter."

\---

_History_

Katherine had always thought enemies were for important people - monarchs and presidents and superheroes. If pressed, she never would have believed librarians had enemies. 

But Katherine wasn't the ordinary sort of librarian. She had been orphaned and was struggling just to survive when she'd met him - a boy with hair inexpertly dyed black, with gold eyes and a kind smile. He'd protected her, guiding her somewhere she could be safe, which turned out to be London, where he promised she would be provided for. He sent her to Oxford, where she learned literature and philosophy and mathematics. She studied library science, and algorithms, and history.

She'd studied legends as often as she did _agreed_ history, because sometimes things didn't quite fit, and she remembered the boy who'd helped her, who called himself Galahad and had been a little old-fashioned.

And she began to find books in her care that were...odd. Journals and histories that spoke of magic and inhuman creatures as if they were a fact of life. And as she found more of these books, she found them crafting a coherent history, albeit an incomplete one, in passing mentions of a Golden Age, of Atlantis…

That was where it began, where Katherine began looking for answers. Because there were other people looking for answers. Human, _mostly_ , but grim, intense, and dangerous. It had taken some time for her to conclude they were sorcerers - they were good at subtlety when they wanted to be. The discovery of that, however, did more to convince her that they didn't deserve the knowledge they sought, than any other argument could have.

Strangely, her encounters were rarely exchanges of arcane might, but more...cloak and dagger sort of stuff. Like right now, where she was bidding against them on a collection of books of vague but inestimable value. They had incredible resources, more than Katherine, but were spread thin, lately, she believed. She thought if she were canny, she could win this-

"One million Euros."

Katherine saw her opposite number swing around to stare blankly at the man who had just won the books. He was wizened, perched on his chair in a neat grey suit, head topped by a wild mop of white, mustache and beard drooping to his waist. He didn't _look_ like the sort of man who could afford to spend a million Euros on a set of books, but appearances could be deceiving.

Katherine couldn't outbid him, and given the furious whispered conversation her enemies appeared to be happening, they couldn't either.

But her enemies were less ethical than Katherine, so she trailed the old man as he left the auction, books wrapped up in a package in his arms. Saw as they closed in on him, and as he casually flipped one into a brick wall and broke the other's arm.

Took a hurried step back as he turned his attention on her.

"Katherine Avalon!" he said in a croaking voice, face transforming into a cheery smile, skin the color of fired clay, brown eyes sparkling.

"I-" Katherine paused. "I'm afraid you have the advantage of me."

The old man shook his head, chuckling. "Then we should get to know each other better. Come along."

Katherine followed the old man, bemused, to a charming cafe where he got a gigantic cup of hot chocolate and a croissant. "Go on," he offered, "I'll cover it."

"Are you sure you can afford to?"

He glanced at his books and winked at her. "I most assuredly do."

They sat in silence for a few moments when he sipped at his chocolate, and Katherine her tea. "My name is Ombric," the old man said, at last, and Katherine choked on her tea.

Because Ombric the Undying was - a myth among _myths_. He was a scholar, a sage, but second only to the Yeti in his inaccessibility.

"You look...well?"

Ombric laughed. "You know of me, enough to be surprised."

"Well, I'm used to hearing about you knowing everything already, not buying up books at auction."

Ombric's smile faded. "I don't know everything, not by a long shot. And my life has been a long string of losses, secrets lost in every age. But these," he tapped the books, "are important. They contain secrets about the Golden Age, the prophecies of Cassandra the Disbelieved, and, I hope, the key to bringing an end to the master of those unpleasant fellows who tried to mug me."

"Well, that's all well and good, but I don't see why you felt the need to tell _me_ about this."

Ombric leaned across the table and waved Katherine closer. "Because I may be a sage, but I am not very well-organized. There are secrets in these books, and many others that I possess, but what wisdom they offer is buried in millennia of - well, putting things aside so I can look at them later."

"You need a librarian," Katherine said in awe.

"I need a librarian," Ombric agreed.

\---

_Fear_

Pitch Black, once Kozmotis Pitchiner, had been alive for a very long time. For an unreasonable fraction of that time, he had been in thrall to the evil of the Fearlings.

Or so he had thought.

Awash in the fear they inspired, Pitch had torn down the institutions that made the Golden Age. He had destroyed the Pooka, and pursued the last of them, and the Light of Creation, to the furthest end of the universe.

He had thought his true self lost, the poisonous touch of the Fearlings destroying who he once was.

But then a witch ripped his heart out and Pitch lived a thousand years without it.

When finally freed, Pitch had sought to do as he had before the witch had trapped him, bringing fear to all intelligent beings, but had found the act somehow hollow.

_Wrong_.

In a fit of pique, Pitch had traveled into the Deep, the vessel crafted to collect the residual evil of the world and allow it to multiply.

He had found the great chasm empty - of both the viscous manifestation of evil that had collected there over humanity's entire existence, and the prisoner chained there to drown in it, as Pitch had with fear.

Pitch settled there for a time, remembering how tormenting the boy who'd freed him from Morgana had made him feel a little like a bully, and wondered why. He hadn't felt like that before.

And eventually, he'd come to a conclusion. His soul was flooded in fear, and the Fearlings whispered in his ear constantly. But they did not control him, not in every moment. Freed from the prison, they had used every portion of their power to push Pitch to topple the Golden Age. But since then…

_Pitch_ had believed himself lost, had sunk into a deep depression, and as such, did the only thing that made him feel anymore, which was that which pleased the Fearlings. The thought of anything otherwise had been so terrifying he had abandoned any attempt to think it.

But centuries without a heart had left Pitch deadened to that fear - to _any_ fear, and he realized how much culpability he had for what he had done.

It made him realize he had a _choice_.

As his feelings returned, a part of Pitch despaired of ever making up for what he had done. But the cold, unemotional part of him, put it starkly.

No one would benefit if Pitch wallowed in his guilt, or if, in the absence of redemption, continued to be a puppet of fear and evil. But if he worked to combat the evil he had engendered, _someone_ would benefit.

To let his selfish desire for redemption stop him from doing what was right would only condemn him further.

...In some ways, this debate was academic. Fearlings were creatures tied in some way to Blood Magic, and as such, Myrddin Wyllt was their master. Pitch could not disobey a command from the Sleeping God.

But the Sleeping God's command was…

"Go. Make them fear. Prepare them for my coming."

So Pitch gave them fear. He wove into humanity's dreams the horrors the Sleeping God would bring to their world. He showed them the power of Myrddin Wyllt's servants, the destruction that would be wrought.

Pitch knew what Merlin had asked of him, and what he had _meant_ to ask.

They were not the same thing.

Myrddin Wyllt intended Pitch to create dreams to instill a growing terror in humanity's minds, personalized nightmares to leave them empty and drained. Perhaps in their paranoia they would turn on one another. Such a thing was within Pitch's power, and his practiced skill with the power of nightmares.

Instead, Pitch gave them visions of the Four Horsemen, of the servants Myrddin Wyllt even now sought to forge into weapons. Names and faces began to weave themselves into human consciousness, questions rising in humanity's mind.

_Who is the Sleeping God_?

If Pitch had been Myrddin Wyllt's servant, he would built on humanity's nameless fears to break them under the stress before the Sleeping God could make an appearance.

Instead, he gave humanity a _target_.

\---

_Hope_

Aster woke slowly, and then quite quickly. It was bright, somewhere beyond his closed eyes, and he could smell a clean, sharp smell - antiseptic and the scent of clinical cleanliness. He thought for a moment he was safe, that Jamie had gotten him to a hospital.

But then another scent touched Aster, and among the panic was the _hurt_ that Jamie had failed, had fallen trying to protect _Aster_. Aster couldn't _run_ , much less fight, but he rose to his feet as he opened his eyes, unsteady on his feet because he'd consumed more of his personal reserve of magic than was technically _safe_ -

Jamie bolted up from a chair just a few feet from Aster, who was on a human-sized bed. Jamie grinned at Aster, a relieved expression. _He didn't know_. That made things better, and worse. Clearly, something had gone terribly wrong, but Jamie could get Aster out of here before-

Aster ducked down, ears flattening against his head, a moment before someone entered. Slim, auburn-haired, clad in white like a real doctor, keen blue eyes fixed on a clipboard. She had gone to great lengths not to appear as she truly was, if she were allowed to walk around a _hospital_ unmolested.

She glanced up at Aster, lips pursed in concentration. "You're awake. You're bound to be a little dizzy from the anesthetics, but if it persists, it may be a sign I missed some internal bleeding. How are you feeling otherwise?"

"Exhausted," Aster replied. "And-" He'd been bleeding from several dozen smaller scrapes and cuts when he'd lost consciousness, but on examination, saw no signs of them.

"I didn't think anything was broken, but my knowledge of Pooka anatomy is _nonexistent_ , except from what I've been able to pick up from you. So if you think otherwise, we can try to do something about it."

The woman's brisk tone had carried Aster along, made him forget, for a moment, the danger he was in, but those last words brought it to mind suddenly. He growled.

Jamie _and_ the woman stepped back, Jamie with concern, the woman with alarm. _Good_ , Aster thought.

"If you think for one second I'm buying this 'kindly healer' act, you're dumber than you look."

"Hey!" Jamie snapped; the woman frowned, mildly.

"I don't know about 'kindly', but I haven't heard many complaints about my bedside manner." She lifted a foot, as if to step forward, paused and then stayed where she was. "I'm Dr. Lake, and I'll be overseeing your recovery as long as you choose to stay here. Any insight you can offer to help speed your recovery - diet, allergies-"

"I'm not telling you how to _kill_ me!" Aster snapped, and Dr. Lake paused. Her brows furrowed, and Aster tensed, ready for the moment she finally cast aside the facade and Aster would have to find a way to get him _and_ Jamie out of here.

"Aster, you can relax," Dr. Lake said. "You're safe here." She waved vaguely toward a window. "The sun's back, so they've gotten Morgana out of the way."

" _Safe_?" Aster jeered. "In the hands of a _Blood Mage_? You must be out of your mind!"

Dr. Lake's mouth gaped, looking to Jamie; Aster growled, drawing her gaze back to him. "You can _tell_?" she asked.

"The stench of it's all over you," Aster retorted. She wasn't carrying a grail he could see, but that must have been part of the act.

"Well." Dr. Lake straightened, her cool air returning in a moment. "I doubt I could have kept your heart beating without it."

Aster felt _sick_ at the thought of his life preserved at the expense of whoever she'd been killing for her power - his stomach roiled when he realized she worked in a _hospital_.

"I would have rather _died_ ," Aster snarled, "than let you _kill_ someone to put me in your debt. Jamie, we have to get _out of here_."

"Wait." Dr. Lake stepped sideways to take up the entire door. She was frowning, but...she hadn't made any threatening moves. No demands. She was a strange sort of Blood Mage. "I didn't - _hurt_ anyone."

"Don't pretend you're a _martyr_ ; I know the look of those who bleed themselves for others."

"Of course not. I used _your_ blood, mostly."

Aster stilled. It was - well, not impossible. But it was the work of _master_ Blood Mages - who could use their _own_ blood to heal themselves when all else failed. But he couldn't imagine a master Blood Mage who hadn't practiced with sacrifice, with the art of killing for the sake of power.

"You said you _mostly_ used my blood. What about the rest of it?"

"This _is_ a hospital," Dr. Lake replied. "Despite our efforts - our _best_ efforts, Aster - people die here. Blood is spilled." It was a complex bit of Blood Magic, Aster knew, to funnel all of the death in a particular place into a grail. Such places were often enchanted to draw in new victims and kill them.

Dr. Lake's suggestion was-

Impossible. It was _almost_ an ethical use of Blood Magic, if Dr. Lake were truly as principled as she claimed, fighting as hard as she could to save lives, but where she couldn't, using the remnants of that to help those she couldn't otherwise.

Jamie was smiling, bright. He'd heard her explain this, and believed in her.

He hadn't seen the depravities left in the wake of Blood Magic.

...But Aster had said he trusted Jamie to watch his back.

And maybe, if there were a Blood Mage who was on _their_ side, someone Aster could trust not to backstab them at the first opportunity, there might be hope for them.

So Aster decided to trust Jamie, to believe in the person he'd already placed his faith in.

\---

_Peace_

She'd had a name, once. If she concentrated, she could almost remember it. But her name had long been replaced by the duty (a self-imposed duty, but a duty nonetheless), and in any case, it caused unnecessary confusion and stress to discover that Death was actually named Emily Jane ( _there_ it was!).

Which, given that her duty was the shepherding of souls into the afterlife peacefully, was counterproductive.

So she just went by Death, when it became necessary to share a name.

She had gotten practiced enough that most people required little more than a nod and a smile, but there were occasional difficult cases.

Like this one. Fae tended to be difficult anyway - as they could only die by violence, they were often distraught when they met her.

_This_ one, though, was a special case.

"All those years, and _he_ ended up being the one who killed _me_!"

Death shrugged; she tried to avoid taking sides, because she would eventually meet the opposite party, and wouldn't want to prejudice her responses.

"I'll just find a way back, and-"

" _Morgana_." The fae (or spirit of the fae) looked up, eyes wide at the power in Death's voice (she did not look imposing unless she felt the need to, but her voice was...compelling). "You cannot go back. My realm may be a waystation, but it is still a one-way passage."

Morgana slumped forward. "I _know_. I spent _centuries_ researching ways to bring my son back."

"Your...son?"

"Mordred. Pendragon. That _prick_ Merlin killed him fifteen hundred years ago."

"Mordred. Mordred. Mordred…" Death had many talents, and one of them was a memory for faces, for names. She might not meet anyone more than once, but that didn't mean she couldn't remember them. "I can't say I've met anyone by that name."

"What?" Morgana demanded. "That's imposs…" She froze.

" _The Amulet_ ," she whispered. "It wasn't a trick, wasn't a - _I have to go back_! For a day, an _hour_!"

Death shook her head, giving Morgana as gentle a smile as she could manage. "I can't do that. You _know_ that. Whatever it is...they'll work it out on their own. Or not. Whatever happens, it's beyond both of our concern."

\---

_Dreams_

Sanderson's ship had been lost for eons. He wasn't aware of another creature on Earth who possessed a ship capable of traveling the vast distance between Earth and the world he needed to go.

But there were other ways of traveling - some of them faster than any spaceship.

_This is Princess Aja Tarron of Akiridion…_

A message was being carried through the universe. It had been taken away from Earth by a courier, to a tiny outworld bar, and from there to a dozen different worlds.

_Our planet has fallen to the Cult of the Sleeping God, as many others have…_

Those who heard the message could do nothing _but_ pass it on.

_But we are tired of running…._

The message did not bring them hope; the universe had seen the unstoppable force of the Cult's spread, and knew well the strength of its hold upon the worlds it had taken. But the message brought these broken souls something else - something better.

A _dream_. The universe had forgotten what a world without the Sleeping God was like - hearing that voice, of an exiled queen who would run no longer, let them imagine such a world.

_The Sleeping God has stolen our homes from us. Let us strike back. Let us take something of his._

It did not take long, when the message reached a world. For the people who had been drained of hope to be given a spark - not of hope, but of _belief_. It was _possible_ to throw off the shackles of the Cult.

Aja Tarron's voice did not tell people to hope. It begged them to fight.

And they did.

Even as the day promised by the Sleeping God's followers came, his power washing across the universe to rouse those who had died in his service to fight again, the people held in bondage by his followers rose up in rebellion.

That spark - the dream of freedom - guided Sanderson across the universe, to wartorn worlds where he fought battalions of the undead, to worlds struggling to rebuild as the Cult pulled its forces away from the edges of its empire, to the very seat of their power, the last world to fall to them.

Akiridion 5.

But war had come to Akiridion at last, and Sanderson moved through it unseen. This, at last, was the planet he had sought, and here was his target. It was in the palace of the royal family, because the Sleeping God had no subtlety. There were guards here, though, because the Cult knew what was here. What value it held. But Sanderson was buoyed by the fierce dreams of those seeking to free themselves of the Cult, the Sand of Dreams felling cultists like wheat before a scythe.

Sanderson shattered the doors of the prison beneath the palace, uncaring of who was released. No creature deserved to be held in the grip of the Cult, no matter their crimes.

But Sanderson paid little attention to them; he had a mission, a single prisoner to seek, one whose dreams had called to him.

Once a looming figure of a warrior, the man was shrunken, weak. But alive. His will was indomitable, so he was still alive.

He would be until they discovered the secret he carried.

Varvatos Vex eyed Sanderson with a dull gaze; his core was weakened by his time here. "Who are you?"

Sanderson's sand twisted around him to create pictograms-

"What?" Varvatos Vex glowered at Sanderson's rebuses. "I cannot - do you know Standard Sign?" he demanded.

"Oh!" Sanderson's hands moved a little slowly; he'd had few enough visitors, much less any that knew Standard Sign. "I had forgotten-"

"What do you want with me?"

"I've come to get you out," Sanderson replied. "To give you news. And...to ask you a question."

Vex's eyes darted up, where Sanderson was certain he could hear the echoes of battle. "You brought an army just to free _me_?"

"No. They are fighting. At the behest of your queen."

"The queen is dead."

"The _new_ queen. Aja. She is a thousand worlds away, in a refuge that is not safe. The Sleeping God is awake, master of the world that she and her brother sought."

Vex lunged up to the bars, causing them to shake. Had he been in better shape, they might have bent. "You will _let me out_ , then! I vowed-"

"I know your vows. But even you, General Vex, would be of no use to them as you are now. Which brings me...to my question."

"What?"

"The question...your captors have been asking you."

Vex stepped back, eyes narrow. "This is a trick."

"It is not! By the Constellations, it is not! You know it is important, but I can tell you _why_!"

Vex raised one eyebrow. "Continue."

"In the Golden Age, they fought against a foe called the Fearlings. They found them all but immortal, fear given form. Eventually, they made a discovery. Orichalcum. An ore that could be forged into blades that gleamed with starlight, moonlight, sunlight. Blades that could _hurt_ them. _Kill_ them. The greatest heroes of the age wielded starlight weapons, but even though all knew these weapons could destroy these indestructible foes, none knew the _secret_ of orichalcum. 

"The Sleeping God knew. And he hunted and destroyed all others who knew. Once he was certain that secret was safe, he turned his gaze upon the _source_ of orichalcum, of those with the skill to shape it. There might yet live three or four creatures who could do so, but their existence is...academic without access to that ore. Without access to the orichalcum mines owned by the royal family of Akiridion 5."

Vex glowered at Sanderson. "This is an entertaining story, but it does not say why I should tell _you_ the location of the mine."

"The universe is finally banding together to fight the Sleeping God. But his works, his servants, grow stronger with every life taken in this war. That is what makes Blood Mages so terrible - their power can grow without bound, so long as they are brutal enough. Blood Magic made the Fearlings, giving souls over to their own fear to create a nightmare. And because they are created from Blood Magic, Fearlings can be utterly unmade by orichalcum blades. By some providence, orichalcum is the antithesis of Blood Magic, and the Sleeping God knows this. He has hidden or cursed every weapon, every fragment of orichalcum he could find, and he has seized every source of the metal he can find."

Vex looked at Sanderson, who was bouncing along the air in his excitement, at sharing the secret he had discovered so long ago. The warrior's tension did not ease, but his wariness shifted to something brighter. Fiercer.

"Why would I take you to the mines, if there are no smiths who can work with orichalcum?"

"But there _are_!" Sanderson protested. "On Earth - where Queen Aja found refuge - they had such a wealth of orichalcum three weapons were made. Those weapons are _lost_. But I know of an artificer of unmatched skill. If we - if _you_ \- were to bring him raw orichalcum, Nicholas St. North could make a weapon of it."

Vex was quiet, and Sanderson feared for a moment-

"It would be the greatest honor to bring my queen a weapon she could turn against our most powerful foe. But you said...the Sleeping God's people grow more powerful every second-"

"So does _he_."

And Sanderson saw the moment Vex came to understand what Sanderson intended. "You think-"

"There was another name they gave to orichalcum blades:

" _Godkillers_."

\---

_Guardian_

Ombric didn't get many visitors these days. Nowadays, if you wanted wisdom, you went to Merlin. That isn't to say Ombric never had company. But it was still an oddity when the woman came to Santoff Clausen seeking Ombric.

She was pale of face and hair, eyes a dull silver, and heavily, obviously pregnant. Ombric was no midwife, but he would not put the due date too far in the future.

She was also not human. She was of the fae - of the Unseelie, he guessed.

"You are Ombric - the Undying," she asked.

"That moniker _has_ found its way to my name, yes," he agreed. "And you are?"

"My name is Nimue, and I need your help."

Ombric coughed gently. "I know I am known as a wise man, but my experience in birthing is limited-"

The woman laughed, a high, bright sound. "My attendant is perfectly capable of helping me give birth without your assistance, _sir_. Although my child _is_ the reason I have come to you. Ombric, I cannot bear for my child to know their father."

"Well, um." Ombric stroked at his beard. He'd never had the sorts of entanglements that might lead to such a problem, but it didn't mean he couldn't apply his not inconsiderable wisdom to the problem. "Of course, traveling a country where he is not known may help the problem-"

"His reach is _great_ , Ombric. But the past is another country, is it not? So too, then, is the _future_."

Ombric stilled, surprised. Few knew his powers enough to ask such favors of him, but people were usually more interested in the past. The future, most knew, was not fixed, but they always had hopes for what might be done in the past (foolish, of course - the past was fixed, so it was more productive to see how you might make the future you desired).

"Madam, if I were to take you to the future, you would never be allowed to return to this time."

"I _know_ ," Nimue replied. "But I am not asking you to take both of us. He must not suspect I have fled, or he will search for me, and will come, in time, to you. You are Ombric the Undying. Send my child to the future, and when the time comes, seek them out. Raise them."

"Madam, I know you are of the Winter Court, but to ask such a boon of me-"

"I have adequate payment, even for you, Ombric," Nimue interrupted. She pulled up the sack she carried at her side and pulled it open. "I know many of the secrets of your people were lost when Alexandria burned, but my clan are faeries of lore and learning. We saved what we could - I will give you a portion of what we hold, in exchange for your vow."

Nimue could not have provided a more tempting payment. It was not as if this boon was _beyond_ his power, though there was the concern Ombric might be killed in the interim. Still, while a parent may grow irrational in thoughts for their children, he did not think a faerie would so risk her child's life without very good reason.

"You have a deal, my darling."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Among various art I've been getting people make is guardian-of-da-gay's [depiction of Aster meeting Barbara](https://guardian-of-da-gay.tumblr.com/post/183875106788/a-fun-commission-i-did-for-appendingfic-i-might). Go, watch them!


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